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JOHN  COWPER  POWYS 


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Published  by  G.  ARNOLD  SHAW 

GRAND   CENTRAL   TERMINAL,    NEW    YORK 


RODMOOR 


A  ROMANCE 


JOHN  COWPER  POWYS 

Author  of  "Wood  and  Stone,"  etc. 


O  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on. 

And  they  waded  rivers  abune  the  knee. 

And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon 
But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

A>'0NYM0?r8. 


1916 

G.  ARNOLD  SHAW 

NEW  YORK 


I 
.A 

c 


COPYRIGHT.    191« 
BY    G.    ARNOLD    SH  AW 


COPYRIGHT,    IN    GREAT    BRITAIN 
AND   THE   COLONIES 


VAIL-BALLOU     COMPANY 

BINGHAMTON  AND   NEW   YORK 


DEDICATED 

TO  THE   SPIRIT  OF 

EMILY  BRONTE 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     The  Borough 1 

II     Dyke  House 24- 

III  Sea-Drift 40 

IV  Oakguard 49 

V     A  Symposium 58 

VI  Bridge-Head  and  Withy-Bed   ...  73 

VII     Vespers 87 

VIII     Sun  and  Sea 102 

IX     Priest  and  Doctor 118 

X  Low  Tide 129 

XI  The   Sisters 139 

XII     Hamish   Traherne 152 

XIII     Departure 160 

XIV     Brand  Renshaw 175 

XV     Broken  Voices 194 

XVI     The  Fens 212 

XVII     The  Dawn 226 

XVIII     Bank-Holiday 239 

XIX     Listeners 264 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Ravelston  Grange 282 

The  Windmill 311 

The  Northwest  Wind 337 

Warden  of  the  Fishes 352 

The  Twenty-Eighth  of  October  .      .  375 

Baltazar  Stork 409 

November  Mist 430 

Theenos 447 


CHAPTER 

XX 

XXI 

XXII 

XXIII 

XXIV 

XXV 

XXVI 

XXVII 


RODMOOR 


THE  BOROUGH 

IT  was  not  that  he  concealed  anything  from  her. 
He  told  her  quite  frankly,  in  that  first  real  con- 
versation they  had  together  —  on  the  little  se- 
cluded bench  in  the  South  London  park  —  about  all  the 
morbid  sufferings  of  his  years  in  America  and  his  final 
mental  collapse. 

He  even  indicated  to  her  —  while  the  sound  of  grass- 
mowing  came  to  them  over  the  rain-wet  tulips  —  some 
of  the  most  secret  causes  of  this  event ;  his  savage  reac- 
tion, for  instance,  against  the  circle  he  was  thrown  into 
there ;  his  unhappy  habit  of  deadly  introspection ;  his 
aching  nostalgia  for  things  less  murderously  new  and 
raw. 

He  explained  how  his  mental  illness  had  taken  so  dan- 
gerous, so  unlooked  for  a  shape,  that  it  was  only  by  the 
merest  chance  he  had  escaped  long  incarceration. 

No;  it  was  not  that  he  concealed  anything.  It  was 
rather  that  she  experienced  a  remote  uneasy  feeling 
that,  say  what  he  might, —  and  in  a  certain  sense  he  said 
too  much  rather  than  too  little  —  she  did  not  really 
understand  him. 

Her  feminine  instinct  led  her  to  persuade  him  that 

she  understood;  led  her  to  say  what  was  most  reassur- 

1 


RODMOOR 


ing  to  him,  and  most  consolatory;  but  in  her  heart  of 
hearts  she  harboured  a  teasing  doubt;  a  doubt  which 
only  the  rare  sweetness  of  these  first  love-days  of  her 
life  enabled  her  to  hide  and  cover  over.  Nor  was  this 
feeling  about  her  lover's  confessions  the  only  little  cloud 
on  Nance  Herrick's  horizon  during  these  memorable 
weeks  —  weeks  that,  after  all,  she  was  destined  to  look 
back  upon  as  so  strangely  happy. 

She  found  herself,  in  the  few  moments  when  her  pas- 
sionate emotion  left  her  free  to  think  of  such  things, 
much  more  anxious  than  she  cared  to  admit  about  the 
ambiguous  relations  existing  between  the  two  persons 
dependent  upon  her.  Ever  since  the  death  of  her 
father  —  that  prodigal  sailor  —  three  years  ago,  when 
she  had  taken  it  upon  herself  to  support  both  of  them 
by  her  work  in  the  dressmaker's  shop,  she  had  known 
that  all  was  not  well  between  the  two.  Rachel  Doorm 
had  never  forgiven  Captain  Herrick  for  marrying 
again ;  she  felt  that  instinctively,  but  it  was  only  quite 
recently  that  she  had  grown  to  be  really  troubled  by  the 
eccentric  woman's  attitude  to  the  little  half-sister. 

Linda's  mother,  she  knew,  had  in  her  long  nervous 
decline  rather  clung  than  otherwise  to  this  grim  friend 
of  the  former  wife ;  but  Linda's  mother  had  always  been 
different  from  other  women ;  and  Nance  could  remem- 
ber how,  in  quite  early  days,  she  never  interfered  when 
Miss  Doorm  took  the  child  away  to  punish  her. 

To  Nance  herself  Rachel  had  always  been  something 
of  an  anxiety.  Her  savage  devotion  had  proved  over 
and  over  again  more  of  a  burden  than  a  pleasure;  and 
now  that  there  was  this  increased  tension  between  her 
and  Linda,  the  thing  began  to  appear  invidious,  rapa- 
cious, sinister. 


THE  BOROUGH 8 

She  was  torn,  in  fact,  two  wajs  over  the  situation. 
Her  own  mother  had  long  ago  —  and  it  was  one  of  her 
few  definite  recollections  of  her  —  made  her  swear  sol- 
emnly never  to  desert  this  friend  of  former  days;  and 
the  vows  she  had  registered  then  to  obey  this  covenant 
had  grown  into  a  kind  of  religious  rite ;  the  only  rite,  in 
fact,  after  all  these  years,  she  was  able  to  perform  for 
her  dead. 

And  yet  if  loyalty  to  her  mother  kept  her  patiently 
tender  with  Rachel's  eccentricities,  the  much  warmer 
feeling  she  had  for  her  other  parent  was  stirred  indig- 
nantly by  the  thought  of  any  unkindness  dealt  out  to 
Linda. 

And  just  at  present,  it  was  clear,  Linda  was  not 
happy. 

The  young  girl  seemed  to  be  losing  her  vivacity  and 
to  be  growing  silent  and  reserved. 

She  was  now  nearly  eighteen ;  and  yet  Nance  had 
caught  her  once  or  twice  lately  looking  at  Rachel 
Doorm  with  the  same  expression  of  frightened  entreaty 
as  she  used  to  wear  when  led  away  from  her  mother's 
side  for  some  childish  fault.  Rachel's  father,  a  taci- 
turn and  loveless  old  man,  had  recently  died,  leaving  his 
daughter,  whom  he  had  practically  cast  off,  a  small  but 
secure  annuity  and  a  little  house  on  the  east  coast. 

It  was  now  to  this  home  of  her  ancestors,  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Rodmoor,  that  Rachel  Doorm  was  anxious  to 
transport  both  sisters ;  partly  as  a  return  for  what 
Nance's  mother,  and  more  recently  Nance  herself,  had 
done  for  her  support,  and  partly  out  of  fanatical  devo- 
tion to  Nance. 

The  girl  could  not  help  experiencing  a  feeling  of  in- 
finite relief  at  the  thought  of  being  freed  from  her  un- 


4  RODMOOR 


congenial  work  in  the  dressmaker's  establishment.  Her 
pleasure,  nevertheless,  had  been  considerably  marred, 
in  the  last  few  days,  by  the  attitude  of  her  sister  towards 
the  projected  change. 

And  now,  with  the  realisation  of  this  thrilling  new 
passion  possessing  her,  her  own  feeling  about  leaving 
London  was  different  from  what  it  had  been  at 
first. 

None  of  these  questions  interrupted,  however,  on  that 
particular  afternoon,  the  girl's  dreamy  and  absorbed 
happiness. 

In  the  long  delicious  intervals  that  fell  between  her 
and  her  lover  with  a  perfume  sweeter  than  that  of  the 
arrested  rain,  she  let  her  mind  wander  in  languid  ret- 
rospect, from  that  seat  in  Kensington  Park,  over  every 
one  of  the  wonderful  events  that  had  led  her  to  this. 

She  recalled  her  first  sight  of  Adrian  and  how  it  had 
come  over  her,  like  an  intimation  from  some  higher 
sphere  of  being,  that  her  fate  was  henceforth  to  lie,  for 
good  and  for  evil,  in  that  man's  hands. 

It  was  quite  early  in  April  when  she  saw  him ;  and  she 
remembered,  sitting  now  by  his  side,  how,  as  each  day 
grew  milder,  and  the  first  exquisite  tokens  of  Spring 
penetrated  one  by  one  —  here  a  basket  of  daffodils, 
and  there  a  spray  of  almond-blossom  —  into  the  street 
she  traversed  to  her  work,  she  felt  less  and  less  inclined 
to  struggle  against  the  deep  delicious  thrill  that  suffused 
itself,  like  a  warm  indrawing  wave,  through  every  pulse 
of  her  body.  That  it  should  never  have  come  to  her  be- 
fore —  that  she  should  have  lived  absolutely  fancy-free 
until  so  near  her  twenty-third  birthday  —  only  made 
her  abandonment  to  what  she  felt  now  the  more  sweet 
and  entire. 


THE  BOROUGH 


"  It  is  love, —  it  is  love,"  she  thought ;  "  and  I  will 
give  myself  up  to  it !  " 

And  she  had  given  herself  up  to  it.  It  had  pene- 
trated her  with  an  exultant  inner  spring  of  delight. 
She  had  immersed  herself  in  it.  She  had  gone  through 
her  tedious  drudgery  as  if  she  were  floating,  languidly 
and  at  ease,  on  a  softly  rocking  tide.  She  had  lived 
entirely  in  the  present.  She  had  not  made  the  least 
movement  even  to  learn  the  name  of  the  man  whose  word- 
less pursuit  of  her  had  stirred  her  senses  to  this  exultant 
response. 

She  had  felt  an  indescribable  desire  to  prolong  these 
hours  of  her  first  love,  these  hours  so  unreturning,  so 
new  and  so  sweet ;  a  desire  —  she  remembered  it  well 
now  —  that  had  a  tinge  of  unformulated  fear  about  it; 
as  though  the  very  naming,  even  to  herself,  of  what  she 
enjoyed,  would  draw  down  the  jealousy  of  the  invisible 
powers. 

So  she  had  been  careful  never  to  stop  or  linger,  in 
her  hurried  morning  walks  to  the  historic  bridge ;  care- 
ful —  after  she  had  once  passed  him,  and  their  eyes  had 
met  —  never  so  much  as  to  turn  her  head,  to  see  if  he 
were  following. 

And  yet  she  knew  —  as  well  in  those  first  days  as 
she  knew  now  —  that  every  morning  and  night  he 
waited,  wet  or  fine,  to  see  her  go  by. 

And  she  had  known,  too  —  how  could  she  not 
know?  —  that  this  mute  signalling  of  two  human  souls 
must  change  and  end;  must  become  something  nearer 
or  something  farther  as  time  went  on.  But  day  b}^  day 
she  put  off  this  event ;  too  thrilled  by  the  sweet  dream 
in  which  she  moved,  to  wish  to  destroy  it,  either  for  bet- 
ter or  for  worse. 


6  RODMOOR 


If  she  had  doubted  him;  doubted  that  he  cared  for 
her ;  all  would  have  been  different. 

Then  she  would  have  taken  some  desperate  step  — 
some  step  that  would  have  forced  him  to  recognise  her 
for  what  she  was,  his  one  of  all,  ready  as  none  else  could 
be  ready,  to  cry  with  a  great  cry  —  "  Lord,  behold  thine 
hand-maid ;  do  unto  her  according  to  Thy  will !  "  But 
she  had  known  he  did  care.  She  had  felt  the  magnetic 
current  of  his  longing,  as  if  it  had  been  a  hand  laid  down 
upon  her  breast. 

And  in  answer  she  had  given  herself  up  to  him ;  given 
herself,  she  thought,  with  no  less  complete  a  yielding 
than  that  with  which,  as  she  heard  his  voice  by  her  side, 
reaching  her  through  a  delicate  mist  of  delicious  dream- 
ing, she  gave  herself  up  to  him  now. 

She  recalled  with  a  proud  gladness  the  fact  that  she 
had  never  —  never  for  a  moment  —  in  all  those  days, 
bestowed  a  thought  on  the  question  of  any  possible  fu- 
ture with  him.  In  the  trance-like  hours  wherein  she  had 
brooded  so  tenderly  over  the  form  and  face  of  her  name- 
less lover,  she  always  pictured  him  as  standing  waiting 
for  her,  a  tall,  bowed,  foreign-looking  figure,  clothed 
in  the  long  weather-stained  Inverness  —  the  very  tex- 
ture of  which  she  seemed  to  know  the  touch  of  —  by  that 
corner  curb-stone  where  the  flower-shop  was. 

Just  in  that  manner,  with  just  that  air  of  ardent  ex- 
pectation, he  might  be  found  standing,  she  had  felt, 
through  unnumbered  days  of  enchantment,  and  she  pass- 
ing by,  in  silence,  with  the  same  expectant  thrill. 

Such  a  love  draught,  not  drained,  not  feverishly 
drunk  of,  but  sweet  in  her  mouth  with  the  taste  of  a 
mystic  consecration,  seemed  still,  even  now  that  she  had 
him  there  beside  her,  to  hold  the  secret,  amid  this  warm 


THE  BOROUGH 


breath  of  London's  first  lilacs,  of  a  triumphant  Present, 
wherein  both  Past  and  Future  were  abolished. 

It  seemed  to  the  happy  girl  on  this  unique  April 
afternoon,  while  the  sliding  hours,  full  of  the  city's 
monotonous  murmur,  sank  unnoticed  away,  and  the 
gardeners  planted  their  pansies  and  raked  lethargically 
in  the  scented  mould,  as  though  nothing  that  could  ever 
happen  to  her  afterwards,  could  outweigh  what  she  felt 
then,  or  matter  so  very  greatly  in  the  final  reckoning. 
With  every  pulse  of  her  young  body  she  uttered  her 
litany  of  gratitude.  '*  Ite;  missa  est  "  her  heart 
cried  —  "  It  is  enough." 

As  they  walked  home  afterwards,  hand  in  hand 
through  the  dusk  of  the  friendly  park,  she  made  him  tell 
her,  detail  by  detail,  every  least  incident  of  those  first 
days  of  their  encountering.  And  Adrian  Sorio,  catch- 
ing the  spirit  of  that  exquisite  entreaty,  grew  voluble 
even  beyond  his  wont. 

He  told  her  how,  in  the  confusion  of  his  mind,  when 
it  was  first  revealed  to  him  that  the  devastation  he  was 
suffering  from  did  not  deny  him  the  sweet  sting  of  "  what 
men  call  love,"  he  found  it  impossible  to  face  with  any 
definite  resolution  the  problem  of  his  doubtful  future. 
He  had  recognised  that  in  a  week  or  so  every  penny  he 
possessed  would  be  gone ;  yet  it  was  impossible  —  and 
his  new  emotion  did  not,  he  confessed,  alter  this  in  the 
least  —  to  make  any  move  to  secure  employment. 

A  kind  of  misanthropic  timidity,  so  he  explained  to 
her,  made  the  least  thought  of  finding  what  is  popularly 
known  as  "  work  "  eminently  repellant  to  him ;  yet  it 
was  obvious  that  work  must  be  found,  unless  he  wished, 
simply  and  quietly,  to  end  the  affair  by  starvation. 

This,  as  things  went  then,  he  told  her,  giving  her 


8  RODMOOR 


hand  a  final  pressure  as  they  emerged  into  the  lighted 
streets,  he  did  not  at  all  urgently  want  —  though  in  the 
first  days  of  his  return  from  America  he  had  pondered 
more  than  once  on  the  question  of  an  easy  and  agreeable 
exit.  It  was  as  they  settled  down  side  by  side, —  her 
hat  no  longer  held  languidly  in  her  gloveless  hand, —  to 
their  long  and  discreet  walk  home  through  the  crowded 
thoroughfares,  that  she  was  first  startled  by  hearing 
the  name  "  Rodmoor  "  from  his  lips.  How  amazing 
a  coincidence !     What  a  miraculous  gift  of  the  gods  ! 

Fate  was  indeed  sweeping  her  away  on  a  full  tide. 

It  seemed  like  a  thing  in  some  old  fantastic  romance. 
Could  it  be  possible  even  before  she  had  time  to  con- 
template her  separation  from  him  that  she  should  learn 
that  they  were  not  to  separate  at  all ! 

Rachel  Doorra  was  indeed  a  witch  —  was  indeed 
working  things  out  for  her  favourite  with  the  power  of 
a  sorceress.  She  kept  back  her  natural  cry  of  delight, 
"  But  that  is  where  we  are  going,"  and  let  him,  all  un- 
conscious, as  it  seemed,  of  the  effect  of  his  words,  un- 
ravel in  his  own  way  the  thread  of  his  story. 

It  was  about  a  certain  Baltazar  Stork  she  found  he 
was  telling  her  when  her  startled  thoughts,  like  a  flock 
of  disturbed  pigeons,  alighted  once  more  on  the  field  of 
his  discourse.  Baltazar,  it  appeared,  was  an  old  friend 
of  Sorio's  and  had  written  to  offer  him  a  sort  of  in- 
definite hospitality  in  his  village  on  the  North  Sea. 
The  name  of  this  place  —  had  she  ever  heard  of  Rod- 
moor? —  had  repeated  itself  very  strangely  in  his  mind 
ever  since  he  first  made  it  out  in  his  friend's  abominable 
hand. 

At  that  point  in  their  walk,  under  the  glare  of  a  great 
provision  shop,  she  suddenly  became  conscious  that  he 


THE  BOROUGH  9 

was  watching  her  with  laughing  excitement.  "  You 
know  !  "  she  cried,  "  you  know !  "  And  it  was  with  diffi- 
culty that  he  persuaded  her  to  let  him  tell  her  how  he 
knew,  in  his  own  elaborate  manner. 

This  refuge  —  offered  to  him  thus  out  of  a  clear  sky, 
he  told  her  —  did  in  a  considerable  sense  lend  him  an 
excuse  for  taking  no  steps  to  find  work.  And  the  name 
of  the  place  —  he  confessed  this  with  an  excited  em- 
phasis —  had  from  the  beginning  strangely  affected  his 
imagination. 

He  saw  it  sometimes,  so  he  said,  that  particular  word, 
in  a  queer  visualised  manner,  dark  brown  against  a 
colourless  and  livid  sky;  and  in  an  odd  sort  of  way  it 
had  related  itself,  dimly,  obscurely,  and  with  the  in- 
coherence of  a  half-learnt  language,  to  the  wildest  and 
most  pregnant  symbols  of  his  life. 

Rodmoor !  The  word  at  the  same  time  allured  and 
troubled  him.  What  it  suggested  to  him  —  and  he 
made  her  admit  that  his  ideas  of  it  were  far  more 
definite  than  her  own  —  was  no  doubt  what  it  really 
implied:  leagues  and  leagues  of  sea-bleached  forlorn- 
ness,  of  sand-dunes  and  glaucous  marshes,  of  solitary 
willows  and  pallid-leaved  poplars,  of  dark  pools  and 
night-long-murmuring  reeds. 

"  We'll  have  long  walks  together  there ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, interrupting  himself  suddenly  with  an  almost 
savage  gesture  of  ardent  possession.  If  it  had  been 
any  one  but  Baltazar  Stork,  he  went  on,  who  had  sent 
him  this  timely  invitation,  he  would  have  rejected  it  at 
once,  but  from  Baltazar  he  had  no  hesitation  in  accept- 
ing anything.  They  had  been  friends  too  long  to  make 
any  other  attitude  possible.  No,  it  was  no  scruple  of 
pride  that  led  him  to  hesitate  —  as  he  admitted  to  her 


10  RODMOOR 


he  had  done.  It  was  rather  the  strange  and  inde- 
finable reaction  set  up  in  his  brain  by  those  half-sinister 
half-romantic  syllables  —  syllables  that  kept  repeating 
themselves  in  his  inner  consciousness. 

Nance  remembered  more  than  once  in  a  later  time  the 
fierce  sudden  way  he  turned  upon  her  as  they  stood  on 
the  edge  of  the  crowded  square  waiting  the  opportunity 
to  cross  and  asked,  with  a  solemn  intensity  in  his  voice, 
whether  she  had  any  presentiment  as  to  how  things 
would  turn  out  for  them  in  this  place. 

"  It  hangs  over  me,"  he  said,  "  it  hangs  over  us 
both.  I  see  it  like  a  heavy  sunset  weighted  with  purple 
bars."  And  then,  when  the  girl  did  nothing  but  shake 
her  head  and  smile  tenderly,  "  I  warn  you,"  he  went 
on,  "  you  are  risking  much  —  I  feel  it  —  I  know  it. 
I  have  had  this  sort  of  instinct  before  about  things." 
He  shivered  a  little  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  as 
if  he  clung  to  her  for  reassurance. 

Nance  remembered  long  afterwards  the  feelings  in 
her  that  made  her  turn  her  face  full  upon  him  and 
whisper  proudly,  as  if  in  defiance  of  his  premonitions, 
"  What  can  happen  to  us  that  can  hurt  us,  my  dear, 
as  long  as  we  are  together,  and  as  long  as  we  love  one 
another?  " 

He  was  silent  after  this  and  apparently  satisfied,  for 
he  did  not  scruple  to  return  to  the  subject  of  Rod- 
moor.  The  word  gave  him  in  those  first  days,  he  said, 
that  curious  sensation  we  receive  when  we  suddenly  say 
to  ourselves  in  some  new  locality,  "  I  have  been  here ;  I 
have  seen  all  this  before." 

Had  he  at  that  time,  he  told  her,  been  less  distracted 
by  the  emotions  she  aroused  in  him,  he  would  have 
analysed  to  the  bottom  the  dim  mental  augury  —  or 


THE  BOROUGH 11 

was  it  reminiscence?  —  called  up  by  this  name.  As 
it  was  he  just  kept  the  thing  at  the  back  of  his  mind 
as  something  which,  whatever  its  occult  significance,  at 
least  spared  him  the  necessity  of  agitating  himself  about 
his  future. 

Nance's  thoughts  were  brought  back  from  their  half- 
attention  with  a  shock  of  vivid  interest  when  he  came 
to  the  point,  amid  his  vague  recollections,  of  his  first 
entrance  into  her  house.  It  was  exactly  a  week  ago,  he 
reminded  her,  that  he  found  himself  one  sunny  morning 
securely  established  as  a  new  lodger  under  her  roof. 
In  his  impatient  longing  to  secure  the  desirable  room 
—  across  the  narrow  floor  of  which,  he  confessed  to  her, 
he  paced  to  and  fro  that  day  like  a  hungry  tiger  —  he 
had  even  forgotten  to  make  the  obvious  inquiry  as  to 
the  quarter  of  the  London  sky  from  which  his  particu- 
lar portion  of  light  and  air  was  to  come. 

It  was  only,  he  told  her,  with  a  remote  segment  of 
his  consciousness  that  he  became  aware  of  the  fine, 
full  flood  of  sunshine  which  poured  in  from  the  southern- 
opening  window  and  lay,  mellow  and  warm,  upon  his 
littered  books  and  travel-stained  trunk. 

Casual  and  preoccupied  were  the  glances  he  cast, 
each  time  his  mechanical  perambulation  brought  him 
to  that  pleasant  window,  at  the  sun-bathed  trafiic  and 
the  hurrying  crowd.  London  Bridge  Road  melted  into 
his  thought;  or  rather  his  thought  took  possession  of 
London  Bridge  Road  and  reduced  it  to  a  mere  sound- 
ing-board for  the  emotion  that  obsessed  him. 

That  emotion  —  and  Nance  got  exquisite  pleasure 
from  hearing  him  say  the  words,  though  she  turned  her 
face  away  from  him  as  he  said  them  —  took,  as  he 
paced  his  room,  passionate  and  ardent  shape.     He  did 


12  RODMOOR 


not  re-vivify  the  whole  of  her, —  of  the  fair  young  being 
whose  sweetness  had  got  into  his  blood.  He  confined 
himself  to  thinking  of  the  delicate  tilt  of  her  head  and 
of  the  spaciousness  between  her  breasts,  spaciousness 
that  somehow  reminded  him  of  Pheidian  sculpture. 

He  hadn't  anticipated  this  particular  kind  of  escape 
—  though  it  was  certainly  the  escape  he  had  been  seek- 
ing —  amid  the  roar  of  London's  streets ;  but  after  all, 
if  it  did  give  him  his  cup  of  nepenthe,  his  desired  ano- 
dyne, how  much  the  more  did  he  gain  when  it  gave  him 
so  thrilling  an  experience  in  addition?  Why,  indeed, 
should  he  not  dream  that  the  gods  were  for  once  help- 
ing him  out  and  that  the  generous  grace  of  his  girl's 
form  was  symbolic  of  the  restorative  virtue  of  the  great 
Mother  herself? 

Restoration  was  undoubtedly  the  thing  he  wanted  — 
and  in  recalling  his  thoughts  of  that  earlier  hour,  to 
her  now  walking  with  him,  he  found  himself  enlarging 
upon  it  all  quite  unscrupulously  in  terms  of  what  he 
now  felt  —  restoration  on  any  terms,  at  any  cost,  to 
the  kindly  normal  paths  out  of  which  he  had  been  so 
roughly  thrown.  He  thrust  indignantly  back,  he  told 
her,  that  eventful  morning  the  intrusive  thought  that 
it  was  only  the  Spring  that  worked  so  prosperously 
upon  him.  He  did  not  want  it  to  be  the  Spring;  he 
wanted  it  to  be  the  girl.  The  Spring  would  pass ;  the 
girl,  if  his  feeling  for  her  —  and  he  glanced  at  the 
broad-rimmed  hat  and  shadowy  profile  at  his  side  — 
were  not  altogether  illusive,  would  remain.  And  it  was 
the  faculty  for  remaining  that  he  especially  required  in 
his  raft  of  refuge. 

Up  and  down  his  room,  at  any  rate,  he  walked  that 
day  with  a  heightened  consciousness  such  as  he  had 


THE  BOROUGH 13 

not  known  for  many  clouded  months.  "  The  Spring  " 
—  and  in  his  imaginative  reaction  to  his  own  memories 
he  grew,  so  Nance  felt  with  what  was  perhaps  her  first 
serious  pang,  almost  feverishly  eloquent  — "  the  Spring, 
whether  I  cared  to  recognise  it  or  not,  waved  thrilling 
arms  towards  me.  I  felt  it  " —  and  he  raised  his  voice 
so  loud  that  the  girl  looked  uneasily  round  them  — 
"  in  the  warmth  of  the  sun,  in  the  faces  of  the  wistful 
shop  girls,  in  the  leaves  budding  against  the  smoke  of 
the  Borough.  It  had  come  to  me  again,  and  you  — 
you  had  brought  it  1  It  had  come  to  me  again,  the 
Eternal  Return,  the  antiphonal  world-deep  Renewal. 
It  had  come,  Nance,  and  all  the  slums  of  Rotherhithe 
and  Wapping,  and  all  the  chimney's,  workshops,  wharves 
and  tenements  of  the  banks  of  this  river  of  yours  could 
not  stop  the  rising  of  the  sap.  The  air  came  to  me 
that  morning,  my  girl !  " —  and  he  unconsciously  quick- 
ened his  steps  as  he  spoke  till,  for  all  her  long  youthful 
limbs  she  could  hardly  keep  pace  with  him  — "  as  if  it 
had  passed  over  leagues  of  green  meadows.  And  it 
had!  It  had,  Nance!  And  it  throbbed  for  me,  child, 
with  the  sweetness  of  your  very  soul."  He  paused  for 
a  moment  and,  as  they  debouched  more  directly  east- 
ward through  a  poor  and  badly  lit  street,  she  caught 
him  muttering  to  himself  what  she  knew  was  Latin. 

He  answered  her  quick  look  —  her  look  that  had  a 
dim  uneasiness  in  it  —  with  a  slow  repetition  of  the  fa- 
mous line,  and  Nance  was  still  quite  enough  of  a  young 
girl  to  feel  a  thrill  of  pride  that  she  had  a  lover  who, 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  "  Elephant  and  Castle," 
could  quote  for  her  on  an  April  evening  that  "  eras  amet 
qui  nunquam  amaiit  "  of  the  youth  of  the  centuries! 

The  rich,  antique   flavour  of  the  words   blent  well 


14  RODMOOR 


enough  as  far  as  she  was  concerned  with  the  homely 
houses  and  taverns  of  that  dilapidated  quarter.  The 
night  was  full  of  an  indescribable  balm,  felt  through  the 
most  familiar  sounds  and  sights,  and,  after  all,  there 
was  always  something  mellow  and  pagan  and  free  about 
the  streets  of  London.  It  was  the  security,  the  friendly 
solidity,  of  the  immense  city  which  more  than  anything 
just  then  seemed  to  harmonise  with  this  classical  mood 
in  her  wonderful  foreigner  and  she  wished  he  would 
quote  more  Latin  as  they  went  along,  side  by  side,  past 
the  lighted  fruit  stalls. 

The  overhanging  shadow  of  Adrian's  premonitions, 
or  whatever  they  were,  about  Rodmoor,  and  her  own 
anxieties  about  Rachel  Doorm  and  Linda  withdrew 
themselves  into  the  remotest  background  of  the  girl's 
mind  as  she  gave  herself  to  her  happiness  in  this  fa- 
voured hour.  It  was  in  a  quiet  voice,  after  that,  that 
he  resumed  his  stor3\  The  sound,  he  said,  of  one  of  the 
Borough  clocks  striking  the  hour  of  ten  brought  a 
pause  to  his  agitated  pacing. 

He  stretched  himself,  he  told  her,  when  he  heard  the 
clock,  stretched  his  arms  out  at  full  length,  with  that 
delicious  shivering  sensation  which  accompanies  the 
near  fulfilment  of  deferred  hope.  Then  he  chuckled  to 
himself,  from  sheer  childish  ecstasy,  and  made  goblinish 
faces. 

Nance  could  not  help  noticing  as  he  told  her  all  this, 
how  quaintly  he  reproduced  in  his  exaggerated  way  the 
precise  gestures  he  had  indulged  in.  "  Per  Bacco !  I 
had  only  three  pounds  left,"  he  said,  and  as  he  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  glowered  at  her  under  a  flickering 
lamp  from  eyes  sunken  deep  in  his  heavy  face,  she  real- 
ised of  what  it  was  he  had  been  all  this  while  vaguely 


THE  BOROUGH  15 

rt'ininding  her  —  of  nothing  less,  in  fact,  than  one  of 
those  saturnine  portrait-busts  of  the  Roman  decadence, 
at  which  as  a  child  she  used  to  stare,  half-frightened 
and  half-attracted,  in  the  great  Museum. 

The  first  thing  he  did,  he  told  her,  when  the  sound 
of  the  clock  brought  him  to  his  senses,  was  to  empty 
his  pockets  on  the  top  of  the  chest-of-drawers  which 
was,  except  for  the  bed  and  a  couple  of  rickety  chairs, 
the  only  article  of  furniture  in  the  room.  An  errant 
penny,  rolling  aside  from  the  rest,  tinkled  against  the 
edge  of  his  washing  basin.  "Not  three  pounds  !"  he  mut- 
tered and  leered  at  himself  in  his  wretched  looking  glass. 

It  was  precisely  at  that  moment  that  the  sound  of 
voices  struck  his  ears,  proceeding  from  the  adjoining 
room. 

"  I  had  spent  half  the  night,"  he  whispered,  drawing 
his  companion  closer  to  his  side  as  a  couple  of  tipsy 
youths  pushed  roughly  by  them,  "  lying  awake  listen- 
ing. I  felt  a  queer  kind  of  shame,  yes,  shame,  as  I 
realised  how  near  I  w'as  to  you.  You  know  I  knew 
nothing  of  you  then,  absolutely  nothing  except  that  you 
went  to  work  every  day  and  lived  with  some  sort  of 
elderly  person  and  a  younger  sister.  It  was  this  ig- 
norance about  you,  child,  that  made  my  situation  so 
exciting.  I  waited  breathlessly,  literally  petrified,  in 
the  middle  of  the  room." 

Nance  at  this  point  felt  herself  compelled  to  utter 
a  little  cry  of  protest. 

"  You  ought  to  have  made  some  kind  of  noise,"  she 
said,  "  to  let  us  know  you  were  listening." 

But  he  waved  aside  her  objection,  and  continued: 
"  I  remained  petrified  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  feeling 
as  though  the  persons  I  listened  to  might  at  any  mo- 


16  RODMOOR 


ment  stop  their  conversation  and  listen,  in  their  turn, 
to  the  frantic  beating  of  ni}'  heart.  I  heard  your  voice. 
I  knew  it  in  a  moment  to  be  yours  —  it  had  the  round, 
full  sweetness  " —  his  arm  was  about  her  now  — "  of 
your  darling  figure.  '  Good-bye ! '  you  called  out  and 
there  came  the  sound  of  a  door  opening  upon  the 
passage,  '  Good-bye !  I'm  off.  Meet  me  to-night  if 
you  like.  Yes,  soon  after  six.  Good-bj'e !  Look  after 
each  other.' 

"  The  door  shut  and  I  heard  you  running  down  the 
stairs.  I  felt  as  though  that  '  Meet  me  to-night '  had 
been  addressed  to  myself.  I  crossed  over  to  the  win- 
dow and  watched  you  thread  your  way  through  the 
crowd  in  the  direction  of  the  Bridge.  I  knew  you  were 
late.  I  hoped  you  would  not  be  scolded  for  it  by  some 
shrewish  or  brutal  employer.  I  wished  I  had  had  the 
courage  to  go  out  on  the  landing  and  see  you  off.  Why 
is  one  always  so  paralysed  when  these  chances  offer 
themselves.''  I  might  easily  have  taken  a  fellow-lodger's 
privilege  and  bidden  you  good  morning.  Then  I  found 
myself  wondering  whether  you  had  any  inkling  that  I 
had  been  sleeping  so  near  you  that  night.  Had  you, 
you  darling,  had  you  any  such  instinct.''  " 

Nance  shook  her  head,  nor  could  he  see  the  expres- 
sion of  her  eyes  in  the  quiet  darkened  square,  across 
which  they  were  then  moving.  They  came  upon  a 
wooden  bench,  under  some  iron  railings,  and  he  made 
her  sit  down  while  he  completed  his  tale.  The  spot  was 
unfrequented  at  that  hour,  and  above  their  heads  —  as 
they  leaned  back,  sighing  tranquilly,  and  he  took  pos- 
session of  her  hand  —  the  branch  of  a  stunted  beech- 
tree   stretched  itself  out,   hushed   and   still,   enjoying 


THE  BOROUGH 17 

some  secret  dream  of  its  own  amid  tlie  balmy  perfumes 
of  the  amorous  night. 

"  jMay  I  go  on?"  he  enquired,  looking  tenderly  at 
her. 

In  her  heart  Nance  longed  to  cry,  "  No !  No !  No 
more  of  these  tiresome  memories !  Make  love  to  me ! 
Make  love  to  me!"  but  she  only  pressed  his  fingers 
gently  and  remained  silent. 

"  I  took  up  a  book,"  he  went  on,  "  from  the  heap  on 
the  floor  and  drawing  one  of  those  miserable  chairs  to 
the  window,  I  opened  it  at  random.  It  happened  to 
be  that  mad  lovely  thing  of  Rcmy  de  Gourmont.  I 
forgot  whether  you  said  y^ou  had  got  as  far  as  French 
poetry  in  that  collection  of  yours  that  Miss  Doorm 
is  so  suspicious  of.  It  was,  in  fact,  '  Le  livre  des 
Litanies,'  and  shall  I  tell  you  the  passage  I  read?  I 
was  too  excited  to  gather  its  meaning  all  at  once,  and 
then  such  a  curious  thing  happened  to  me !  But  I 
will  say  the  lines  to  you,  child,  and  3'ou  will  under- 
stand better." 

Nance  could  only  press  his  hand  again,  but  her  heart 
sank  with  an  unaccountable  forebodincp. 

"  It  was  the  Litany  of  the  Rose,"  he  said,  and  his 
voice  floated  out  into  the  embalmed  stillness  with  the 
same  ominous  treachery  in  its  tone,  so  the  poor  girl 
fancied,  as  the  ambiguous  words  he  chanted. 

"  Rose  au  regard  saphique,  plus  pale  que  les  lys,  rose 
au  regard  saphique,  off  re-nous  le  parfum  de  ton  illusoire 
tirginitc,  feur  hypocrite,  fieur  de  silence." 

The  strange  invocation  died  away  on  the  air,  and  a 
singular  oppression,  heavy  as  if  with  some  undesired 
spiritual  presence,  weighed  upon  them  both.     Sorio  did 


18  RODMOOR 


not  speak  for  some  minutes,  and  when  he  did  so  there 
was  an  uneasy  vibration  in  liis  voice. 

"  As  soon  as  I  had  read  those  lines,  there  came  over 
me  one  of  the  most  curious  experiences  I  have  ever 
had.  I  seemed  to  see,  yes,  you  may  smile," —  Nance 
was  far  from  smiling  —  "  but  it  is  actually  true  —  I 
seemed  to  see  a  living  human  figure  outline  itself  against 
the  wall  of  my  room.  To  the  end  of  my  days  I  shall 
never  forget  it!  It  was  a  human  form,  Nance,  but  it 
was  unlike  all  human  forms  I've  ever  beheld  —  unless  it 
be  one  of  those  weird  drawings,  you  know?  of  Aubrey 
Beardsley.  It  was  neither  the  form  of  a  boy  nor  of  a 
girl,  and  yet  it  had  the  nature  of  both.  It  gazed  at 
me  with  a  fixed  sorrowful  stare,  and  I  felt  —  was  not 
that  a  strange  experience  —  that  I  had  known  it  be- 
fore, somewhere,  far  off,  and  long  ago.  It  was  the 
very  embodiment  of  tragic  supplication,  and  yet,  in  the 
look  it  fixed  on  me,  there  was  a  cold,  merciless  mockery. 

"  It  was  the  kind  of  form,  Nance,  that  one  can  imag- 
ine wandering  in  vain  helplessness  down  all  the  years 
of  human  history,  seeking  amid  the  dreams  of  all  the 
great,  perverse  artists  of  the  world  for  the  incarnation 
it  has  been  denied  by  the  will  of  God."  He  paused 
again,  and  an  imperceptible  breath  of  hot  balmy  air 
stirred  the  young  leaves  of  the  beech  branch  above 
them. 

"  Ah ! "  he  whispered,  "  I  know  what  I  thought  of 
then.  I  thought  of  that  '  Secret  Rose  Garden  '  where 
the  timid  boy-girl  thing  —  you  know  the  picture  I 
mean,  Nance.''  —  is  led  forth  by  some  wanton  lamp 
bearer  between  rose  branches  that  are  less  soft  than  her 
defenceless  sides." 

Once  more  he  was  silent  and  the  hot  wind,  rising  a 


THE  330ROUGH 10 

little,  uttered  a  perceptible  murmur  in  the  leaves  above 
their  heads. 

"  But  what  was  more  startling  to  me,  Nance,"  he 
went  on,  "  even  than  the  figure  I  saw  (and  it  only 
stayed  a  moment  before  disappearing)  was  the  fact 
tliat  at  the  very  second  it  vanished,  I  heard,  spoken 
quite  distinctly,  in  the  room  next  to  mine,  the  word 
'  Rodmoor.' 

"  I  threw  down  the  *  Book  of  Litanies '  and  once 
more  stood  breathlessly  listening.  I  caught  the  word 
again,  uttered  in  a  tone  that  struck  mc  as  having  some- 
thing curiously  threatening  about  it.  It  was  your 
Miss  Doorm,  Nance.  No  wonder  she  and  I  instinc- 
tively hated  each  other  when  we  met.  She  must  have 
known  that  I  had  heard  this  interesting  conversation. 
Your  sister's  voice  —  and  you  must  think  about  that, 
Nance,  you  must  think  about  that  —  sounded  like  the 
voice  of  a  little  girl  that  has  been  punished  —  yes,  pun- 
ished into  frightened  submissiveness. 

"  Miss  Doorm  was  evidently  talking  to  her  about  this 
Rodmoor  scheme.  '  It's  what  I've  waited  for,  for  years 
and  years,'  I  heard  her  say.  '  Every  Spring  that  came 
round  I  hoped  he  would  die,  and  he  didn't.  It  seemed 
that  he  wouldn't  —  just  to  spite  me,  just  to  keep  me 
out  of  my  own.  But  now  he's  gone  —  the  old  man  — 
gone  with  all  his  wickedness  upon  him,  and  my  place 
returns  to  me  —  my  own  place.  It's  mine,  I  tell  you, 
mine!  mine!  mine!'  It  was  extraordinary,  Nance,  the 
tone  in  which  she  said  these  things.  Then  she  went 
on  to  speak  of  you.  *  I  can  free  her  now,'  she  said,  '  I 
can  free  her  at  last.  Aren't  you  glad  I  can  free  her? 
Aren't  you  glad?  ' 

"  I  confess  it  made  me  at  that  moment  almost  indig- 


20  RODMOOR 


nant  with  your  sister  that  she  should  need  such  pressing 
on  such  a  subject.  Her  voice,  however,  when  she  mur- 
mured some  kind  of  an  answer,  appeared,  as  I  have  said, 
quite  obsequious  in  its  humility. 

"  '  O  my  precious,  my  precious ! '  the  woman  cried 
again,  evidently  apostrophising  you,  '  you've  worked 
for  me,  and  saved  for  me,  and  now  I  can  return  it  —  I 
can  return  it  1 '  There  was  a  few  minutes'  silence  then, 
and  I  moved,"  Sorio  continued,  "  quite  close  to  the  wall 
so  as  to  catch  if  I  could  your  sister's  whispers. 

"  Miss  Doorm  soon  began  once  more  and  1  liked  her 
tone  still  less.  '  Why  don't  you  speak?  Why  do  you 
sit  silent  and  sulky  like  that?  Aren't  you  glad  she'll 
be  free  of  all  this  burden  —  of  all  this  miserable 
drudgery?  Aren't  you  glad  for  her?  She  kept  you 
here  like  a  Duchess,  you  with  your  music  lessons !  A 
lot  of  money  you'll  ever  earn  with  your  music !  And 
now  it's  my  turn.  She  shall  be  a  lady  in  my  house,  a 
lady!'" 

Nance's  head  hung  low  down  over  her  knees  as  she 
listened  to  all  this  and  the  hand  that  her  lover  still 
retained  grew  colder  and  colder. 

"  I  remember  her  next  words,"  Sorio  went  on,  "  par- 
ticularly well  because  a  lovely  fragrance  of  lilacs  came 
suddenly  into  the  window  from  a  cart  in  the  street  and 
I  thought  how  to  my  dying  day  I  should  associate  that 
scent  with  this  first  morning  under  your  roof. 

"'You  say  you  don't  like  the  sea?'  Miss  Doorm 
went  on,  '  and  you  actually  suppose  that  your  not  lik- 
ing the  sea  will  stop  my  freeing  her !  No !  No ! 
You'll  have  the  sea,  my  beauty,  at  Rodmoor  —  the  sea 
and  the  wind.  No  more  dilly-dallying  among  the  pretty 
shop  windows  and  the  nice  young  music  students.     The 


THE  BOROUGH 21 

Wind  and  the  Sea !  Those  are  the  things  that  arc  wait- 
ing for  you  at  Kodinoor  —  at  Rodmoor,  in  my  house, 
where  she  will  be  a  lady  at  last ! ' 

"  You  see,  Nance,"  Adrian  observed,  letting  her  hand 
go  and  preparing  to  light  a  cigarette,  "  Miss  Doorm's 
idea  seems  to  be  that  you  will  receive  quite  a  social  lift 
from  your  move  to  her  precious  Rodmoor.  She  evi- 
dently holds  the  view  that  no  lady  has  ever  earned  her 
living  with  her  own  hands.  Does  she  propose  to  keep 
a  horde  of  servants  in  this  small  house,  I  wonder,  and 
stalk  about  among  them,  grim  and  majestic,  in  a  black 
silk  gown? 

"  I  must  confess  I  feel  at  this  moment  a  certain 
understanding  of  your  sister's  reluctance  to  plunge 
into  this  '  milieu.'  I  can  see  that  house  —  oh,  so 
clearly!  —  surrounded  by  a  dark  back-water  and  swept 
by  horribly  cold  winds.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Nance, 
what  kind  of  neighbours  3'ou're  going  to  have  on  the 
Doorm  estate.  Probably  half  the  old  hags  of  East 
Anglia  will  troop  in  upon  you,  like  descendants  of  the 
Valkyries.  And  the  North  Sea !  You  realise,  my  dear, 
I  suppose,  what  the  North  Sea  is  ?  I  don't  blame  little 
Linda  for  shivering  at  the  thought  of  it." 

For  the  first  time  since  she  had  known  him  Nance's 
voice  betrayed  irritation.  "  Don't  tease  me,  Adrian. 
I  can't  stand  it  to-night.  You  don't  know  what  all  this 
means  to  Rachel." 

Adrian  smiled.  "  Your  dear  Rachel,"  he  said, 
"  seems  to  have  got  you  both  fairly  well  under  her 
thumb." 

"  She  was  my  mother's  best  friend ! "  the  girl  burst 
out.  "  I  should  never  forgive  myself  if  I  made  her 
unhappy !  " 


22  RODMOOU 


"  There  seems  more  chance,  as  I  see  it  now,"  ob- 
served Sorio,  *'  that  Miss  Doorm  will  make  Linda  un- 
happy. I  think  I  may  take  it  that  Linda's  mother 
wasn't  much  of  a  favourite  of  hers?  Isn't  that  so, 
m}^  dear?  " 

*'  We  must  be  getting  home  now,"  the  girl  remarked, 
rising  from  the  bench.  But  Sorio  remained  seated, 
coolly  puffing  wreaths  of  cigarette  smoke  into  the  aro- 
matic night. 

"  There's  not  the  slightest  need  to  get  cross  with  me," 
he  said  gently,  giving  the  sleeve  of  her  coat  a  little 
deprecatory  caress. 

"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  when  I  heard  that  woman  scold 
Linda  for  not  wanting  to  set  you  free  I  felt,  in  a  most 
odd  and  subtle  manner,  curiously  anxious  to  scold  her, 
too ;  I  quite  longed  to  overcome  and  override  her  ab- 
surd reluctance.  I  even  felt  a  strange  excitement  in 
the  thought  of  walking  with  her  along  the  edge  of  this 
water,  and  in  the  face  of  this  wind.  O !  I  became 
Miss  Doorm's  accomplice,  Nance !  You  may  be  per- 
fectly happy.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  very  moment 
that  I  would  write  at  once  to  Baltazar  and  accept  his 
invitation.  Indeed  I  did  write  to  him,  the  minute  I 
could  hear  no  more  talking.  I  was  too  excited  to  write 
much.  I  just  wrote :  '  Amico  mio :  —  I  will  come  to  you 
very  soon.'  and  when  I'd  finished  the  letter  I  went 
straight  out  and  posted  it.  I  believe  I  heard  Linda 
crying  as  I  went  downstairs,  but,  as  I  tell  you,  Nance, 
I  had  become  quite  an  accomplice  of  Miss  Doorm!  It 
s  «?emed  to  me  outrageous  that  the  selfish  silliness  of  a 
chj'ld  like  that  should  interfere  with  your  emancipation. 
Bcsio^^-"'  I  liked  the  thought  of  walking  with  her  by  the 
shore  o/lJ^i^  sea  and  calming  her  curious  fear." 


THE  BOROUCxH 23 

He  threw  away  his  cigarette  and,  fising  to  liis  feet, 
drew  the  girl's  arm  within  his  own  and  led  her  home- 
wards. 

The  beech-tree,  as  if  relieved  by  their  departure,  gave 
itself  up  with  more  delicious  abandonment  than  ever  to 
the  embraces  of  the  warm  Spring  night.  They  had  not 
far  to  go  now,  and  Nance  only  spoke  once  before  they 
arrived  at  their  door  in  the  London  Bridge  Road. 

"  Had  that  figure  you  saw,"  she  asked  in  a  low  con- 
strained voice,  *'  the  same  look  Linda  has  —  now  that 
you  know  what  she  is  like  ?  " 

"Linda?"  he  answered,  "Oh,  no,  my  dear,  no,  no! 
That  one  had  nothing  to  do  with  Linda.  But  I  think," 
he  added,  after  a  pause,  "  it  had  something  to  do  with 
Rodmoor." 


n 

DYKE  HOUSE 

NANCE  HERRICK  stood  at  her  window 
in  the  Doorm  dwelling  the  morning 
after  their  arrival  thinking  desperately 
of  what  she  had  done.  The  window,  open  at  the  top, 
let  in  a  breath  of  chilly,  salt-tasting  wind  which 
stirred  the  fair  loose  hair  upon  her  forehead  and  cooled 
her  throat  and  shoulders.  At  the  sound  of  her  sister's 
voice  she  closed  the  window,  cast  one  swift,  troubled 
look  at  the  river  flowing  so  formidably  near,  and  moved 
across  to  Linda's  side.  Drowsy  and  warm  after  her 
deep  sleep,  the  younger  girl  stretched  out  her  long, 
youthful  arms  from  the  bed  and  clasped  them  round 
Nance's  neck. 

"  Are  you  glad,"  she  whispered,  "  are  you  glad,  after 
all,  that  I  made  you  come  I  couldn't  have  borne  to 
be  selfish,  dear.  I  should  have  had  no  peace.  No ! — ," 
she  interrupted  an  ejaculation  from  Nance,  *'  —  it 
wasn't  anything  to  do  with  Rachel.  It  wasn't,  Nancy 
darling,  it  really  and  truly  wasn't !  I'm  going  to  be 
perfectly  good  now.  I'm  going  to  be  so  good  that 
you'll  hardly  know  me.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I'm  going 
to  do.'*  I'm  going  to  learn  the  organ.  Rachel  says 
there's  a  beautiful  one  in  the  church  here,  and  Mr. 
Traherne  —  he's  the  clergyman,  you  know  —  plays 
upon  it  himself.  I'm  going  to  persuade  him  to  teach 
me.     0!     I  shall  be  perfectly  happy !  " 

Nance  extricated  herself  from  the  young  girl's  arms 

24 


DYKE  HOUSE  25 


and,  stepping  back  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  stood 
contemplating  her  in  silence.  The  two  sisters,  thus 
contrasted,  in  the  hard  white  light  of  that  fen-land 
morning,  would  have  charmed  the  super-subtle  sense  of 
some  late  Venetian  painter.  Nance  herself,  without 
being  able  precisely  to  define  her  feeling,  felt  that  the 
mere  physical  difference  between  them  was  symbolic  of 
something  dangerously  fatal  in  their  conjunction.  Her 
sister  was  not  an  opposite  type.  She  too  was  fair  — 
she  too  was  tall  and  flexible  —  she  too  w^as  emphatically 
feminine  in  her  build  —  she  even  had  eyes  of  the  same 
vague  grey  colour.  And  yet,  as  Nance  looked  at  her 
now,  at  her  flushed  excited  cheeks,  her  light  brown 
curls,  her  passionate  neurotic  attitude,  and  became  at 
the  same  time  conscious  of  her  own  cold  pure  limbs, 
white  marble-like  skin  and  heavily-hanging  shining 
hair,  she  felt  that  they  were  so  essentially  different, 
even  in  their  likeness,  that  the  souls  in  their  two  bodies 
could  never  easily  comprehend  one  another  nor  arrive 
at  any  point  of  real  instinctive  understanding. 

Something  of  the  same  thought  must  have  troubled 
Linda  too  at  that  moment,  for  as  they  fixed  their  eyes 
on  each  other's  faces  there  fell  between  them  that  sort 
of  devastating  silence  which  indicates  the  struggle  of 
two  human  spirits,  seeking  in  vain  to  break  the  eternal 
barrier  in  whose  isolating  power  lies  all  the  tragedy  and 
all  the  interest  of  life. 

Suddenly  Nance  moved  to  the  window  and  threw  it 
wide  open. 

"  Listen !  "  she  said. 

The  younger  sister  made  a  quick  apprehensive  move- 
ment and  clasped  her  hands  tightly  together.  Her  eyes 
grew  wide  and  her  breast  rose  and  fell. 


26  RODMOOR 


"Listen!"  Nance  repeated. 

A  low,  deep-drawn  murmur,  reiterated,  and  again  re- 
iterated, in  menacing  monotony,  filled  the  room. 

"  The  sea !  "  cried  both  sisters  together. 

Nance  shivered,  closed  the  window  and  sank  down  on 
a  chair.  With  lowered  eyes  she  remained  for  some 
seconds  absorbed  and  abstracted.  When  she  lifted  her 
head  she  saw  that  her  sister  was  watching  her  and 
that  there  was  a  look  on  her  face  such  as  she  had  never 
seen  there  before.  It  was  a  look  she  was  destined  to 
be  unable  to  thrust  from  her  memory,  but  no  effort  of 
hers  could  have  described  it  then  or  afterwards.  Mak- 
ing an  effort  of  will  which  required  all  the  strength  of 
her  soul,  Nance  rose  to  her  feet  and  spoke  solemnly  and 
deliberately. 

"  Swear  to  me,  Linda,  that  nothing  I  could  have  said 
or  done  would  have  made  you  agree  to  stay  in  London. 
I  told  you  I  was  ready  to  stay,  didn't  I,  that  night  I 
camiC  back  with  Adrian  and  found  you  awake?  I 
begged  and  begged  you  to  tell  me  the  truth,  to  tell  me 
whether  Rachel  was  forcing  you  into  going.  I  offered 
to  leave  her  for  good  and  all  —  didn't  I.'^  —  if  she  was 
unkind  to  you.  It's  only  the  truth  I  want  —  only  the 
truth  !  We'll  go  back  —  now  —  to-morrow  —  the  mo- 
ment you  say  you  wish  it.  But  if  you  don't  wish  it, 
make  me  know  you  don't !  Make  me  know  it  —  here  — 
in  my  heart !  " 

In  her  emotion,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  side,  she 
swayed  with  a  pathetic,  unconscious  movement.  Linda 
continued  to  watch  her,  the  same  indescribable  look 
upon  her  face. 

"  Will  you   swear  that  nothing  I  could  have  done 


DYKE  HOUSE  27 


would    have    made   you    stay?     Will   you    swear    that, 
Linda?" 

The  younger  girl  in  answer  to  this  appeal,  leapt  from 
her  bed  and  rushing  up  to  her  sister  hugged  her  tightly 
in  her  arms. 

"You  darling  thing!"  she  cried,  "of  course  I'll 
swear  it.  Nothing  —  nothing  —  nothing!  would  have 
made  me  stay.  Oh,  you'll  soon  see  how  happy  I  can  be 
in  Rodmoor  —  in  dear  lovely  Rodmoor !  " 

A  simultaneous  outburst  of  weeping  relieved  at  that 
moment  the  feelings  of  both  of  them,  and  they  kissed 
one  another  passionately  through  their  falling  tears. 

In  the  hush  that  followed  —  whether  by  reason  of  a 
change  in  the  wind  or  simply  because  their  senses  had 
grown  more  receptive  —  they  both  clearly  heard 
through  the  window  that  remained  closed,  the  husky, 
long-drawn  beat,  reiterative,  incessant,  menacing,  of  the 
waves  of  the  North  Sea. 

During  breakfast  and  the  hours  which  succeeded  that 
meal,  Nance  was  at  once  surprised  and  delighted  by  the 
excellent  spirits  of  both  Miss  Doorm  and  Linda.  They 
even  left  her  to  herself  before  half  the  morning  was 
over  and  went  off  together,  apparently  in  complete  har- 
mony along  the  banks  of  the  tidal  stream. 

She  herself,  loitering  in  the  deserted  garden,  felt  a 
curious  sensation  of  loneliness  and  a  wonder,  not 
amounting  to  a  sense  of  discomfort  but  still  remotely 
disturbing,  as  to  why  it  was  that  Adrian  had  not,  as  he 
had  promised,  appeared  to  take  her  out.  Acting  at 
last  on  a  sudden  impulse,  she  ran  into  the  house,  put 
on  her  hat  and  cloak,  and  started  rapidly  down  the  road 
leading  to  the  village. 


28  RODMOOR 


The  Spring  was  certainly  not  so  far  advanced  in 
Rodmoor  as  it  was  in  London.  Nance  felt  as  though 
some  alien  influence  were  at  work  here,  reducing  to 
enforced  sterility  the  natural  movements  of  living  and 
growing  things.  The  trees  were  stunted,  the  marigolds 
in  the  wet  ditches  pallid  and  tarnished.  The  leaves  of 
the  poplars,  as  they  shook  in  the  gusty  wind,  seemed 
to  her  like  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  tiny  dead  hands  — 
the  hands  of  ghostly  babies  beseeching  whatever  power 
called  them  forth  to  give  them  more  life  or  to  return 
them  to  the  shadows. 

Yes,  some  alien  influence  was  at  work,  and  the  Spring 
was  ravished  and  tarnished  even  while  yet  in  bud.  It 
was  as  if  by  an  eternal  mandate,  registered  when  this 
portion  of  the  coast  first  assumed  its  form,  the  seasons 
had  been  somehow  thwarted  and  perverted  in  the  proc- 
esses of  their  natural  order,  and  the  land  left,  a  nue- 
tral,  sterile,  derelict  thing,  neither  quite  living  nor  quite 
dead,  doomed  to  changeless  monotony. 

Nance  was  still  some  little  distance  from  the  village, 
but  she  slackened  her  pace  and  lingered  now,  in  the  hope 
that  at  any  moment  she  might  see  Adrian  approaching. 
She  knew  from  Rachel's  description  only  very  vaguely 
where  ]Mr.  Stork's  cottage  was  and  she  was  afraid  of 
missing  her  lover  if  she  went  too  far. 

The  road  she  was  following  was  divided  from  the  river 
by  some  level  water  meadows  and  she  did  not  feel  cer- 
tain whether  the  village  itself  lay  on  the  right  or  the 
left  of  the  river  mouth.  JMiss  Doorm  had  spoken  of  a 
bridge,  but  among  the  roofs  and  trees  which  she  made 
out  in  front  of  her,  she  was  unable  at  present  to  see 
anything  of  this. 

What  she  did  see  was  a  vast  expanse  of  interminable 


DYKE  HOUSE  29 

fcn-liind  stretching  away  for  miles  and  miles  on  every 
side  of  her,  broken  against  the  sky  line,  towards  which 
she  was  advancing,  by  grey  houses  and  grey  poplars 
but  otherwise  losing  itself  in  misty  horizons  which 
seemed  infinite  in  their  remoteness.  On  both  sides  of 
the  little  massed  group  of  roofs  and  trees  and  what  the 
girl  made  out  as  the  masts  of  boats  in  the  harbour,  a 
long  low  bank  of  irregular  sand-dunes  kept  the  sea  from 
her  view,  though  the  sound  of  the  waves  —  and  Nance 
fancied  it  came  to  her  in  a  more  friendly  manner  now 
she  was  closer  to  it  —  was  insistent  and  clear. 

Across  the  fens  to  her  left  she  discerned  what  was 
evidently  the  village  church  but  the  building  looked  so 
desolate  and  isolated  —  alone  there  in  the  midst  of  the 
marshes  —  that  she  found  it  difficult  to  conceive  the 
easily-daunted  Linda  as  practising  organ  music  in  such 
a  place.  She  wondered  if  the  grey  building  she  could 
just  obscurely  distinguish,  leaning  against  the  wall  of 
the  church,  were  the  abode  of  Mr.  Traherne.  If  so, 
she  thought,  he  must  indeed  be  a  man  of  God  to  endure 
that  solitude. 

She  had  wandered  into  the  wet  grass  by  the  road's 
edge  and  was  amusing  herself  by  picking  a  bunch  of 
dandelions,  the  only  flower  at  that  moment  in  sight, 
when  she  saw  a  man's  figure  approaching  her  from  the 
Rodmoor  direction.  At  first  she  assumed  it  was  Ad- 
rian, and  made  several  quick  steps  to  meet  him,  but 
when  she  recognised  her  mistake  the  disappointment 
made  her  so  irritable  that  she  threw  her  flowers  away. 
Her  irritation  vanished,  however,  after  a  long  survey 
of  him,  when  the  stranger  actually  drew  near. 

He  was  a  middle-sized  man  wearing  at  the  back  of  his 
head  a  dark  soft  hat  and  buttoned  up,  from  throat  to 


30  RODMOOR 


ankles,  in  a  light-coloured  heavy  overcoat.  His  face, 
plump,  smooth,  and  delicately  oval,  possessed  a  winning 
freshness  of  tint  and  outline  which  was  further  enhanced 
by  the  challenging  friendliness  of  his  whimsical  smile 
and  the  softness  of  his  hazel  eyes.  What  could  be  seen 
of  his  mouth  —  for  he  wore  a  heavy  moustache  —  was 
sensitive  and  sensuous,  but  something  about  the  way  he 
walked  —  a  kind  of  humorous  roll,  Nance  mentally  de- 
fined it,  of  his  sturdy  figure  —  gave  an  impression  that 
this  body,  so  carefully  over-coated  against  the  cold,  was 
one  whose  heart  was  large,  mellow  and  warm.  It  was 
not  till  after  a  minute  or  two,  not  in  fact  till  he  had 
wavered  and  hovered  at  her  side  like  an  entomologist 
over  a  newly  discovered  butterfly,  that  the  girl  got  upon 
the  track  of  other  interesting  peculiarities. 

His  nose,  she  found,  for  instance,  was  the  most  strik- 
ing feature  of  his  face,  being  extremely  long  and  pointed 
like  the  nose  of  a  rodent,  and  with  large  quivering  nos- 
.trils  slightly  reddened,  it  happened  just  then,  by  the 
impact  of  the  wind,  and  tilted  forward  as  the  man 
veered  about  as  though  to  snuff  up  the  very  perfume 
and  essence  of  the  fortunate  occasion. 

From  the  extreme  tip  of  this  interesting  feature  hung 
a  pearly  drop  of  rheum. 

What  —  next  to  the  man's  nose  —  struck  the  girl's 
fancy  and  indeed  so  disarmed  her  dignity  that  even  his 
entomological  hoverings  were  forgiven,  was  the  straight 
lock  of  black-brown  hair  which  falling  across  his  fore- 
head gave  him  a  deliciously  ruffled  and  tumbled  look,  as 
if  he  had  recently  been  engaged  in  a  rural  game  of 
"  blind  man's  buff."  The  forehead  itself,  or  what  could 
be  seen  of  it,  was  Aveighty  and  thoughtful ;  the  forehead 
of  a  scholar  or  a  philosopher. 


DYKE  IIOT^SE  31 

Nance  had  never  in  all  her  life  been  treated  by  a 
stranger  quite  in  the  way  this  worthy  man  treated  her, 
for  not  only  did  he  return  upon  his  steps  immediately 
after  he  had  passed  her,  but  he  permitted  his  eyes,  both 
in  passing  and  repassing,  to  search  her  smilingly  up  and 
down  from  her  boots  to  the  top  of  her  head,  precisely 
as  if  he  were  a  connoisseur  in  a  gallery  observing  the 
"  values  "  of  a  famous  picture. 

And  yet,  for  she  was  not  by  any  means  oblivious  to 
such  distinctions,  the  girl  was  unable  to  feel  even  for 
one  second  that  this  surprising  admirer  was  anything 
but  a  gentleman  —  a  gentleman,  however,  with  very 
singular  manners.  That  she  certainly  did  feel.  And 
yet,  she  liked  him,  liked  him  before  he  uttered  a  word, 
liked  him  with  that  swift,  irrational,  magnetic  attrac- 
tion which,  with  women  even  more  than  with  men,  is 
the  important  thing. 

Passing  her  for  the  third  time  he  suddenly  darted 
into  the  grass,  and  with  a  movement  so  comically  im- 
petuous that  though  she  gave  a  start  she  could  not  feel 
angry,  picked  up  her  discarded  flowers  and  gravely  pre- 
sented them  to  her,  saying  as  he  did  so,  "  Perhaps  you'll 
be  annoyed  at  leaving  these  behind  —  or  do  you  wish 
them  at  the  devil?  " 

Nance  took  them  from  him  and  smiled  frankly  into 
his  face. 

"  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  have  picked  them,"  she 
said.  "  People  don't  like  dandelions  brought  into 
houses." 

"  What  an  Attic  chin  you  have !  "  was  the  stranger's 
next  remark.  There  was  such  an  absence  in  his  tone  of 
all  rakish  or  conventional  gallantry  that  the  girl  still 
felt  she  could  not  repulse  him. 


32  RODMOOR 


"You  are  staying  here  —  in  Rodmoor?  "  he  went 
on. 

Nance  explained  that  she  had  come  to  live  with  Miss 
Doorm. 

"  Ah  !  "  The  stranger  looked  at  her  curiously,  smil- 
ing with  exquisite  sweetness.  "  You  have  been  here  be- 
fore," he  said.  "  You  came  in  a  coach,  pulled  by  six 
black  horses.  You  know  every  sort  of  reed  and  every 
kind  of  moss  in  all  the  fens.  You  know  all  the  shells 
on  the  shore  and  all  the  seaweed  in  the  sea." 

Nance  was  less  puzzled  than  might  be  supposed  by 
this  fantastic  address,  as  she  had  the  advantage  of 
interpreting  it  in  the  light  of  the  humorous  and  reas- 
suring smile  which  accompanied  its  utterance. 

She  brought  him  back  to  reality  by  a  direct  question. 
"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Mr.  Stork  lives,  please.''  I've 
a  friend  staying  with  him  and  I  want  to  know  which 
way  a  person  would  naturally  take  coming  from  there 
to  us.  I  had  rather  hoped,"  she  hesitated  a  little,  "  to 
have  met  my  friend  already.  But  perhaps  Mr.  Stork 
is  a  late  riser." 

The  stranger,  who  had  been  looking  very  intently  at 
the  opposite  hedge  while  she  asked  her  question,  sud- 
denly darted  towards  it.  The  queer  way  in  which  he 
ran  with  his  arms  swinging  loosely  from  his  shoulders, 
and  his  body  bent  a  little  forward,  struck  Nance  as  pe- 
culiarly fascinating.  When  he  reached  the  hedge  he 
hovered  momentarily  in  front  of  it  and  then  pounced  at 
something.  "  Missed !  "  he  cried  in  a  peevish  voice. 
"  Damn  the  little  scoundrel !  A  shrew-mouse !  That's 
what  it  was  !     A  shrew  mouse !  " 

He  came  hurrying  back  as  fast  as  he  went,  almost 
as  if  Nance  herself  had  been  some  kind  of  furred  or 


DYKE  HOUSE  33 


feathered  animal  that  might  disappear  if  it  were  not 
held  fast. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Madam,"  he  said,  breathlessly, 
"  but  you  don't  often  see  those  so  near  the  town. 
Hullo !  "  This  last  exclamation  was  caused  by  the  ap- 
pearance, not  many  paces  from  them,  of  Adrian  Sorio 
himself  who  emerged  from  a  gap  in  the  hedge,  hatless 
and  excited.  "  I  was  on  the  towpath,"  he  gasped,  "  and 
I  caught  sight  of  you.  I  was  afraid  you'd  have  started. 
Baltazar  made  me  go  with  him  to  the  station."  He 
paused  and  stared  at  Nance's  companion. 

The  latter  looked  so  extremely  uncomfortable  that 
the  girl  hastened  to  come  to  his  rescue. 

"  This  gentleman  was  just  going  to  show  me  the  way," 
she  said,  "  to  your  friend's  house.  Look,  Adrian ! 
Aren't  these  lovely?  " 

She  held  out  the  dandelions  towards  him,  but  he  dis- 
regarded them. 

"  Well,"  he  remarked  rather  brusquely,  "  now  I've 
found  you,  I  fancy  we'd  better  go  back  the  way  we  came. 
I'm  longing  to  see  how  Linda  feels.  I  want  to  take  her 
down  to  the  sea  this  afternoon.  Shall  we  do  that?  Or 
perhaps  you  can't  both  leave  Miss  Doorm  at  the  same 
time  ?  " 

He  stared  at  the  stranger  as  if  bidding  him  clear  off. 
But  the  admirer  of  shrew-mice  had  recovered  his  equa- 
nimity. "  I  know  Mr.  Stork  well,"  he  remarked  to 
Sorio.  "  He  and  I  are  quite  old  friends.  I  was  just 
asking  this  lady  if  she  had  ever  been  in  the  fens  before, 
but  I  gather  this  is  her  first  visit." 

Adrian  had  by  this  time  begun  to  look  so  morose  that 
Nance  broke  in  hurriedly. 

"  We    must    introduce    ourselves,"    she    said.     "  My 


34  RODMOOR 


name  is  jNIiss  Herrick.  This  is  Mr.  Adrian  Sorio." 
She  paused  and  waited.  A  long  shrill  cry  followed  by  a 
most  melancholy  wail  which  gradually  died  away  in  the 
distance,  came  to  them  over  the  marshes. 

"  A  curlew,"  remarked  the  intruder.  "  Beautiful 
and  curious  —  and  with  very  interesting  mating  habits. 
They  are  rare,  too." 

"  Come  along,  Nance,"  Sorio  burst  out.  But  the  girl 
turned  to  her  new  acquaintance  and  extended  her  hand. 

"  You  haven't  told  us  your  name  yet,"  she  said.  "  I 
hope  we  shall  meet  again." 

The  stranger  gave  her  a  look  which,  for  caressing 
softness,  could  only  be  compared  to  a  virtuoso's  finger 
laid  upon  an  incomparable  piece  of  Egyptian  pottery. 

"  Certainly  we  shall  meet,"  he  murmured.  "  Of 
course,  most  certainly.  I  know  every  one  here.  My 
name  is  Raughty  —  Doctor  Fingal  Raughty.  I  was 
with  old  Doorm  when  he  died.  A  noble  head,  though 
rather  malformed  behind  the  ears.  He  had  a  peculiar 
smell  too  — not  unpleasant  —  rather  musky  in  fact. 
They  called  him  Badger  in  the  village.  He  could  drink 
more  gin  at  a  sitting  than  any  man  I  have  ever  seen. 
He  resembled  the  portraits  of  Descartes.  Good-bye, 
Miss  —  Nance !  " 

As  soon  as  the  lovers  were  alone  Sorlo's  rage  broke 
forth. 

"  What  a  man !  "  he  cried.  "  Who  gave  him  leave 
to  talk  like  that  of  Mr.  Doorm .''  How  did  he  know 
you  weren't  related  to  him?  And  what  surpassing 
coolness  to  call  you  by  your  Christian  name!  Con- 
found him  —  he's  gone  the  way  we  wanted  to  go.  I 
believe  he  knew  that.  Look!  He's  fooling  about  in 
the  ditch,  waiting  for  us  to  overtake  him !  " 


DYKE  HOUSE  85 


j> 


Nance    could    not    help    laughing    a    little    at    this 
"  Not  at  all,  my  dear.     He's  looking  for  shrew-mice. 

"  What?  "  rejoined  the  other  crossly.  *'  On  the  pub- 
lic road?  He's  mad.  Come,  we  must  get  round  him 
somehow.  Let's  go  through  here  and  hit  the  tow 
path." 

They  had  no  more  interruptions  as  they  strolled 
slowly  back  along  the  river's  bank.  Nance  was  per- 
plexed, however,  by  Adrian's  temper.  He  seemed  ir- 
ritable and  brusque.  She  had  never  known  him  in  such 
a  mood,  and  a  dim,  obscure  apprehension  to  which  she 
could  assign  no  adequate  cause,  began  to  invade  her 
heart. 

They  had  both  become  so  silent,  and  the  girl's  nerves 
had  been  so  set  on  edge  by  his  unusual  attitude  towards 
her,  that  she  gave  a  quite  perceptible  start  when  he 
suddenly  pointed  across  the  stream  to  a  clump  of  oak 
trees,  the  only  ones,  he  told  her,  to  be  found  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

"  There's  something  behind  them,"  she  remarked,  "  a 
house  of  some  kind.  I  shouldn't  like  to  live  out  in  that 
place.  How  they  must  hear  the  wind !  It  must  howl 
and  moan  sometimes  —  mustn't  it?"  She  smiled  at 
him  and  shivered. 

"  I  think  I  miss  London  Bridge  Road  a  little,  and  — 
Kensington  Park.     Don't  you,  too,  Adrian?" 

"  Yes,  there's  a  house  behind  them,"  Sorio  repeated, 
disregarding  her  last  words  and  staring  fixedly  at  the 
oak  trees.     "  There's  a  house  behind  them." 

His  manner  was  so  queer  that  the  girl  looked  at  him 
with  serious  alarm. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Adrian?"  she  said. 
"  I've  never  known  you  like  this  — " 


36  RODMOOR 


"  It's  where  the  Renshaws  live,"  her  lover  continued. 
"  They  have  a  kind  of  park.  Its  wall  runs  close  to 
the  village.  Some  of  the  trees  are  very  old.  I  walked 
there  this  morning  before  breakfast.  Baltazar  advised 
me  to." 

Nance  looked  at  him  still  more  nervously.  Then  she 
gave  a  little  forced  laugh.  "  That  is  why  you  were  so 
late  in  coming  to  see  me,  I  suppose!  Well,  you  say 
the  Renshaws  live  there.  May  one  ask  who  the  Ren- 
shaws are?  '* 

He  took  the  girl's  arm  in  his  own  and  dragged  her 
forward  at  a  rapid  pace.  She  remarked  that  it  was 
not  until  some  wide-spreading  willows  on  the  further 
side  of  the  river  concealed  the  clump  of  oaks  that  he 
replied  to  her  question. 

"  Baltazar  told  me  everything  about  them.  He 
ought  to  know,  for  he's  one  of  them  himself.  Yes,  he's 
one  of  them.  He's  the  son  of  old  Herman,  Brand's 
father;  not  legitimate,  of  course,  and  Brand  isn't  al- 
ways kind  to  him.     But  he's  one  of  them." 

He  stopped  abruptly  on  this  last  word  and  Nance 
caught  him  throwing  a  furtive  glance  across  the  stream. 

"Who  are  they,  Adrian?  Who  are  they?"  re- 
peated the  girl. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  he  cried,  with  strange  irritation. 
"I'll  tell  you  everything!  When  haven't  I  told  you 
everything?  They  are  brewers.  That  isn't  very  ro- 
mantic, is  it?  And  I  suppose  you  might  call  them 
landowners,  too.  They've  lived  here  forever,  it  seems, 
and  in  the  same  house." 

He  burst  into  an  uneasy  laugh. 

"  In  the  same  house  for  centuries  and  centuries ! 
The    churchyard    is    full    of    them.     It's    only    lately 


DYKE  HOUSE 37 

they've  taken  to  be  brewers  —  I  suppose  the  land  don't 
pay  for  their  vices." 

And  again  he  laughed  in  the  same  jarring  and  un- 
genial  way. 

"Brand  employs  Baltazar  —  just  as  if  he  wasn't 
his  brother  at  all  —  in  the  office  at  JMundham.  You 
remember  Mundham?  We  came  through  it  in  the  train. 
It's  over  there,"  he  waved  his  hand  in  front  of  him, 
"  about  seven  miles  off.  It's  a  horrid  place  —  all  slums 
and  canals.  That's  where  they  make  their  beer. 
Their  beer !  "     He  laughed  again. 

"  You  haven't  yet  told  me  who  they  are  —  I  mean 
who  else  there  is,"  observed  Nance  while,  for  some  rea- 
son or  other,  her  heart  began  to  beat  tumultuously. 

"  Haven't  I  said  I'd  tell  you  everything?  "  Sorio 
flung  out.  "  I'll  tell  you  more  than  you  bargain  for, 
if  you  tease  me.  Oh,  confound  it!  There's  Rachel 
and  Linda !  Look  now,  do  they  appear  as  if  they  were 
happy?" 

Favoured  by  the  wind  which  blew  seawards,  the 
lovers  had  been  permitted  to  approach  quite  close  to 
their  friends  without  any  betrayal  of  their  presence. 

Linda  was  seated  on  the  river  bank,  her  head  in  her 
hands,  while  Miss  Doorm,  like  a  black-robed  priestess 
of  some  ancient  ritual,  leant  against  the  trunk  of  a 
leafless  pollard. 

"  They  were  perfectly  happy  when  I  left  them," 
whispered  Nance,  but  she  was  conscious  as  she  spoke 
of  a  cold,  miserable  misgiving  in  her  inmost  spirit. 
Like  a  flash  her  mind  reverted  to  the  lilac  bushes  of  the 
London  garden,  and  a  sick  loneliness  seized  her. 

"  Linda !  "  she  cried,  w  ith  a  quiver  of  remorse  in  her 
voice.     The  young  girl  leapt  hurriedly  to  her  feet,  and 


38  RODMOOR 


Miss  Doorm  removed  her  hand  from  the  tree.  A  quick 
look  passed  between  the  sisters,  but  Nance  understood 
nothing  of  what  Linda's  expression  conveyed.  They 
moved  on  together,  Adrian  with  Linda  and  Nance  with 
Rachel. 

"  What  do  they  call  this  river?  "  Nance  enquired  of 
her  companion,  as  soon  as  she  felt  reassured  by  the 
sound  of  the  girl's  laugh. 

"  The  Loon,  my  dear,"  replied  Miss  Doorm. 
"  They  call  it  the  Loon.  It  runs  through  Mundham 
and  then  through  the  fens.  It  forms  the  harbour  at 
Rodmoor." 

Nance  sat  silent.  In  the  depths  of  her  heart  she 
made  a  resolution.  She  would  find  some  work  to  do 
here  in  Rodmoor.  It  was  intolerable  to  be  dependent 
on  any  one.  Yes,  she  would  find  work,  and,  if  need  be, 
take  Linda  to  live  with  her. 

She  felt  now,  though  she  would  have  found  it  hard 
to  explain  the  obscure  reason  for  it,  more  reluctant 
than  ever  to  return  to  London.  Every  pulse  of  her 
body  vibrated  with  a  strange  excitement.  A  reckless 
fighting  spirit  surged  up  within  her.  Not  easily,  not 
quickly,  should  her  hold  on  the  man  she  loved  be 
loosed !  But  she  felt  danger  on  the  horizon  —  nearer 
than  the  horizon.     She  felt  it  in  her  bones. 

They  had  now  reached  the  foot  of  Rachel's  garden 
and  there  was  a  general  pause  in  order  that  Adrian 
might  do  justice  to  the  heavy  architecture  of  Dyke 
House,  as  it  was  called  —  that  house  which  the  Bad- 
ger —  to  follow  Doctor  Raughty's  tale  —  had  taken 
into  his  "  noble  "  but  "  malformed  "  head  to  leave  to  his 
solitary  descendant. 

As  they  passed  in  one  by  one  through  the  little  dilap- 


DYKE  HOUSE  39 

idated  gate,  Nance  had  a  sudden  inspiration.  She 
seized  her  lover  by  the  wrist.  "  Adrian,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  has  there  been  anything  —  any  one  —  to  re- 
mind you  —  of  what  —  you  saw  —  that  morning.''  " 

She  could  not  but  believe  that  he  had  heard  her  and 
caught  her  meaning,  yet  it  was  hard  to  assume  it,  for 
his  tone  was  calm  and  natural  as  he  answered  her,  ap- 
parently quite  misunderstanding  her  words : 

"The  sea,  j'ou  mean.''  Yes,  I've  heard  it  all  night 
and  all  day.  We'll  go  down  there  this  afternoon,  and 
Linda  with  us."  He  raised  his  voice.  "  You'll  come  to 
the  sea,  Linda;  eh,  child.?     To  the  Rodmoor  sea.?  " 

The  words  died  away  over  the  river  and  across  the 
fens.  The  others  had  already  entered  the  house,  but  a 
laughing  white  face  at  one  of  the  windows  and  the  tap- 
ping of  girlish  hands  on  the  closed  pane  seemed  to  in- 
dicate acquiescence  in  what  he  suggested. 


Ill 

SEA-DRIFT 

THE  wind  had  dropped  but  no  gleam  of  sunshine 
interrupted  the  monotonous  stretch  of  grey 
sky,  grey  dunes  and  grey  sea,  as  the  sisters 
with  their  two  companions  strolled  slowly  in  the  late 
afternoon  along  the  Rodmoor  sands. 

Linda  was  a  little  pale  and  silent,  and  Nance  fancied 
she  discerned  now  and  again,  in  the  glances  Miss  Doorm 
threw  upon  her,  a  certain  sinister  exultation,  but  she 
was  prevented  from  watching  either  of  them  very  closely 
by  reason  of  the  extraordinary  excitement  which  the 
occasion  seemed  to  arouse  in  Sorio.  He  kept  shout- 
ing bits  of  poetry,  some  of  which  Nance  caught  the 
drift  of,  while  others  —  they  might  have  been  Latin  or 
Greek,  for  all  she  knew  —  conveyed  nothing  to  her  but 
a  vague  feeling  of  insecurity.  He  was  like  an  excited 
magician  uttering  incantations  and  invoking  strange 
gods. 

The  sea  was  neither  rough  nor  calm.  Wisps  of 
tossed-up  foam  appeared  and  disappeared  at  far  dis- 
tant points  in  its  vast  expanse,  and  every  now  and  then 
the  sombre  horizon  was  broken  in  its  level  line  by  the 
emergence  of  a  wave  larger  and  darker  than  the  rest. 

Flocks  of.  gulls  disturbed  by  their  approach  rose, 
wheeling  and  screaming,  from  their  feeding-grounds  on 
the  stranded  seaweed  and  flapped  away  over  the  water. 

The  four  friends  advanced  along  the  hard  sand,  close 

to  the  changing  line  of  the  tide's  retreat,  and  from  the 

40 


SEA-DRIFT  41 


blackened  windrow  there,  of  broken  shells  and  anony- 
mous sea  refuse  they  stopped,  each  one  of  them,  at  dif- 
ferent moments,  to  pick  up  some  particular  object  which 
attracted  or  surprised  them.  It  was  Nance  who  was 
the  first  to  become  aware  that  they  were  not  the  only 
frequenters  of  that  solitude.  She  called  Adrian's  at- 
tention to  two  figures  moving  along  the  edge  of  the 
sand-dunes  and  apparently,  from  the  speed  with  which 
they  advanced,  anxious  to  reach  a  protruding  headland 
and  disappear  from  observation. 

Adrian  stopped  and  surveyed  the  figures  long  and  in- 
tently. Then  to  her  immense  surprise,  and  it  must  be 
confessed  a  little  to  her  consternation,  he  started  off  at 
a  run  in  pursuit  of  them.  His  long,  lean,  hatless  figure 
assumed  so  emphatic  and  strange  an  appearance  as  he 
crossed  the  intervening  sands  that  Linda  burst  into 
peals  of  laughter. 

"  I  wish  they'd  run  away  from  him,"  she  cried.  "  We 
should  see  a  race!  Who  are  they?  Does  he  know 
them?" 

Nance  made  no  reply,  but  Miss  Doorm,  who  had  been 
watching  the  incident  with  sardonic  interest,  muttered 
under  her  breath,  "  It's  begun,  has  it?  Soon  enough, 
in  all  conscience !  " 

Nance  turned  sharply  upon  her.  "  What  do  30U 
mean,  Rachel?  Does  Adrian  know  them?  Do  you 
know  who  they  are?  " 

No  answer  was  vouchsafed  to  this,  nor  indeed  was  one 
necessary,  for  the  mystery,  whatever  it  was,  was  on  the 
point  of  resolving  itself.  Adrian  had  overtaken  the 
objects  of  his  pursuit  and  was  bringing  them  back  with 
him,  one  on  either  hand.  Nance  was  not  long  in  mak- 
ing out  the  general  characteristics  of  the  strangers. 


42  RODMOOR 


They  were  both  women,  one  elderly,  the  other  quite 
young,  and  from  what  she  could  see  of  their  appearance 
and  dress,  they  were  clearly  ladies.  It  was  not,  how- 
ever, till  they  came  within  speaking  distance  that  the 
girl's  heart  began  to  beat  an  unmistakable  danger- 
signal.  This  happened  directly  she  obtained  a  definite 
view  of  the  younger  of  Adrian's  companions.  Before 
any  greeting  could  be  given  Rachel  had  whispered  ab- 
ruptly into  her  ear,  "  They're  the  Renshaws  —  I 
haven't  seen  them  since  Philippa  was  a  child,  but  they're 
the  Renshaws.  He  must  have  met  them  this  morning. 
Look  out  for  yourself,  dearie." 

Nance  only  vaguely  heard  her.  Every  fibre  of  at- 
tention in  her  body  and  soul  was  fixed  upon  that  slender 
equivocal  figure  by  Adrian's  side. 

The  introduction  which  followed  was  of  a  sufficiently 
curious  character.  Between  Nance  and  the  young 
woman  designated  by  Rachel  as  Philippa  there  was  an 
exchange  of  glances  when  their  fingers  touched  like  the 
crossing  of  two  naked  blades.  Mrs.  Renshaw  retained 
Linda's  hand  in  her  own  longer  than  convention  re- 
quired, and  Linda  herself  seemed  to  cling  to  the  brown- 
eyed,  grey-haired  lady  with  a  movement  of  childish  con- 
fidence. Nance  was  calm  enough,  for  all  the  beating  of 
her  heart,  to  remark  as  an  interesting  fact  that  her 
rival's  mother,  though  oppressively  timid  and  retiring 
in  her  manner  towards  them  all,  seemed  to  exercise  a 
quelling  and  restraining  influence  upon  Rachel  Doorm, 
who  began  at  once  speaking  to  her  with  unusual  defer- 
ence and  respect.  The  whole  party,  after  some  desul- 
tory conversation,  began  to  drift  away  from  the  sea 
towards  the  town  and  Nance  found  herself  in  spite  of 
some  furtive  efforts  to  the  contrary,  wedged  closely  in 


SEA-DRIFT  43 


between  Mrs.  Kensliaw  and  Rachel  —  with  Linda  walk- 
ing in  front  of  them  —  as  they  followed  the  narrow  un- 
even path  between  the  sand-dunes  and  the  heavy  sand 
of  the  upper  shore. 

Every  now  and  then  Mrs.  Renshaw  would  bend  down 
and  call  their  attention  to  some  little  sea  plant,  telling 
them  its  name  in  slow  sweet  tones,  as  if  repeating  some 
liturgical  formula,  and  indicating  into  what  precise 
colour  its  pale  glaucous  buds  would  unsheathe  as  the 
weather  grew  warm. 

On  these  occasions  Nance  quickly  turned  her  head ; 
but  do  what  she  could,  she  could  only  grow  helplessly 
conscious  that  Adrian  and  his  companion  were  slipping 
further  and  further  behind. 

Once,  as  the  tender-voiced  lady  touched  lightly,  with 
the  tips  of  her  ungloved  fingers,  a  cluster  of  insignifi- 
cant leaves  and  asked  Nance  if  she  knew  the  lesser  rock- 
rose  the  agitated  girl  found  herself  on  the  point  of  ut- 
tering a  strangely  irrelevant  cry. 

"  Rose  au  regard  saphique,'^  her  confused  heart 
murmured,  "  plus  pale  que  les  lys,  rose  au  regard 
saphique,  off  re-nous  le  parfum  de  ton  illusoire  virginite 
fleur  hypocrite,  flour  de  silence." 

They  approached  at  last  the  entrance  of  the  little 
harbour,  and  to  Nance's  ineffable  relief  Mrs.  Renshaw 
paused  and  made  them  sit  down  on  a  fish-smelling  bench, 
among  coils  of  rope,  and  wait  the  appearance  of  the 
missing  ones. 

<The  tide  was  low  and  between  great  banks  of  mud  the 
water  rushed  seaward  in  a  narrow,  sAvirling  current. 
A  heavy  fishing  smack  with  high  tarred  sides  and  red, 
unfurled  sails,  was  being  steered  down  this  channel  by 
two   men   armed   with   enormous    poles.     Through    the 


44  RODMOOR 


masts  of  several  other  boats,  moored  to  iron  rings  in  the 
wooden  wharf,  and  between  the  slate  roofs  of  some  ram- 
shackle houses  on  the  other  side,  they  got  a  glimpse, 
looking  westward  across  the  fens,  of  a  low,  rusty-red 
streak  of  sombrely  illuminated  sky.  This  apparently 
was  all  the  sunset  Rodmoor  was  destined  to  know  that 
evening  and  Nance,  as  she  listened  vaguely  to  Mrs.  Ren- 
shaw's  gentle  voice  describing  to  Linda  the  various 
"queer  characters"  among  the  harbour  people,  had  a 
strange,  bewildered  sense  of  being  carried  far  and  far 
and  far  down  a  remorseless  tide,  with  a  heavy  sky  above 
her  and  interminable  grey  sands  around  her,  and  all  the 
while  something  withheld,  withdrawn,  inexplicable  in 
the  power  that  bore  her  forward. 

They  came  at  last  —  Adrian  and  Philippa  Renshaw, 
and  Nance  had,  in  one  heart-rending  moment,  the  piti- 
less suspicion  that  the  battle  was  lost  already  and  that 
this  fragile  thing  with  the  great  ambiguous  eyes  and 
the  reserved  manner,  this  thing  whose  slender  form 
and  tight-braided,  dusky  hair  might  have  belonged  to  a 
masquerading  boy,  had  snatched  from  her  already  what 
could  never  for  all  the  years  of  her  life  be  won  again ! 

As  they  left  the  harbour  and  entered  the  main  village 
street,  Adrian  made  one  or  two  deliberate  efforts  to  de- 
tach Nance  from  the  rest.  He  pointed  out  little  things 
to  her  in  the  homely  shop-windows  and  seemed  sur- 
prised and  disappointed  when  she  made  no  response  to 
his  overtures.  She  could  not  make  any  response.  She 
could  not  bring  herself  so  much  as  to  look  into  his  face. 
It  was  not  from  any  capricious  pride  or  mere  feminine 
pique  that  she  thus  turned  away  but  from  a  profound 
and  lamentable  numbness  of  every  emotion.  The  wound 
seemed  to  have  gone  further  even  than  she  herself  had 


SEA-DRIFT 45 

known,  llcr  liuart  felt  like  a  dead  cold  weight  —  like  a 
murdered,  unborn  child  —  beneath  her  breast,  and  out 
of  her  lethargy  and  inertness,  as  in  certain  tragic 
dreams,  she  could  not  move.  Her  limbs  seemed  formed 
of  lead,  and  her  lips  —  at  least  as  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned —  became  those  of  a  dumb  animal. 

A  man,  viewing  the  situation  from  outside,  the  slight- 
ness  and  apparent  triviality  of  the  incident,  would  have 
been  astounded  at  the  effect  upon  her  of  so  insubstantial 
a  blow,  but  women  move  in  a  different  world,  a  world 
where  the  drifting  of  the  tiniest  straw  is  indicative  of 
crushing  catastrophes,  and  to  the  instinct  of  the  least 
sensitive  among  women  Nance's  premonitions  would  have 
been  quite  explicable. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  it  was  sharply  borne  in 
upon  her  how  slight  her  actual  knowledge  of  her  lover 
was.  Her  absorption  in  him  was  devoted  and  complete 
but  in  regard  to  the  intricacies  and  complications  of  his 
character  she  was  as  much  in  the  dark  to-day  as  when 
they  first  met  in  London  Bridge  Road. 

Strangely  enough,  in  the  paralysis  of  her  feelings, 
Nance  was  unconscious  of  any  definite  antagonism  to 
the  cause  of  her  distress.  She  found  she  could  talk 
quite  naturally  and  spontaneously  to  Miss  Renshaw 
when  chance  threw  them  together  as  they  emerged  upon 
the  village  green. 

"  Oh,  I  like  those  trees !  "  she  cried,  as  the  row  of 
ancient  sycamores  which  gave  the  forlorn  little  square 
its  chief  appeal  first  struck  her  attention. 

The  cottage  of  Baltazar  Stork,  it  turned  out,  was 
just  behind  these  sycamores  and  next  door  to  the  build- 
ing which,  with  its  immense  and  faded  signboard,  of- 
fered the  natives,  of  Rodmoor  their  unique  dissipation. 


46  RODMOOR 


"  The  Admiral's  Head !  "  Nance  repeated,  surveying 
the  sign  and  thinking  to  herself  that  it  must  have  been 
under  that  somewhat  sordid  roof  that  Miss  Doorm's 
parent  had  drunk  himself  to  death. 

"  Don't  look  at  it,"  she  heard  Mrs.  Renshaw  say, 
"  I  feel  ashamed  every  time  I  pass  it." 

Philippa  gave  Nance  a  quick  and  rather  bitter  smile. 

"  Mother  is  telling  them  that  it  is  our  beer  which  they 
sell  there.  You  know  we  are  brewers,  don't  you.** 
Mother  thinks  it  her  duty  to  remind  every  one  of  that 
fact.  She  gets  a  curious  pleasure  out  of  talking  about 
it.  It's  her  morbid  conscience.  You'll  find  we're  all 
rather  morbid  here,"  she  added,  looking  searchingly  into 
Nance's  face. 

"  It's  the  sea.  Our  sea  is  not  the  same  as  other 
seas.     It  eats  into  us." 

"Why  do  you  say  just  that  —  and  in  that  tone  — 
to  me.''  "  Nance  gravely  enquired,  answering  the  other's 
gaze.  "  My  father  was  a  sailor.  I  love  the  salt- 
water." 

Philippa  Renshaw  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  You 
may  love  being  on  it.  That's  a  different  thing.  It  re- 
mains to  be  seen  how  you  like  being  near  it." 

"  I  like  it  always,  everywhere,"  repeated  Nance  ob- 
stinately, "  and  I'm  afraid  of  nothing  it  can  do  to  me !  " 

They  overtook  the  others  at  this  point  and  Mrs. 
Renshaw  turned  rather  querulously  to  her  daughter. 

"  Don't  talk  to  her  about  the  sea,  Philippa  —  I  know 
that's  what  you're  doing." 

The  girl  with  the  figure  of  a  boy  let  her  eyes  meet 
Adrian's  and  Nance  felt  the  dead  weight  in  her  heart 
grow  more  ice-cold  than  before,  as  she  watched  the  ef- 
fect of  that  look  upon  her  lover. 


SEA-DRIFT  47 


It  was  Kachcl  who  broke  the  tension.  "  It  wasn't 
so  very  long  ago,"  she  said,  "  that  Rodmoor  was  quite 
an  inland  place.  There  are  houses  now,  they  say,  and 
churches  under  the  water.  And  it  swallows  up  the  land 
all  the  time,  inch  by  inch.  The  sand-dunes  are  much 
nearer  the  town,  I  am  sure  of  that,  and  the  mouth  of  the 
river,  too,  than  when  I  lived  here  in  old  days." 

Mrs.  Renshaw  looked  by  no  means  pleased  at  this 
speech. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  '*  we  must  be  getting  home 
for  dinner.  Shall  we  walk  through  the  park,  Phil- 
ippa.''  It's  the  nicest  way  —  if  the  grass  isn't  too 
wet." 

In  the  general  chorus  of  adieus  that  followed,  Nance 
was  not  surprised  when  Sorio  bade  good-night  to  her 
as  well  as  to  the  others.  He  professed  to  be  going  to 
the  station  to  meet  the  Mundham  train. 

"  Baltazar  will  have  a  lot  of  things  to  carry,"  he 
said,  "  and  I  must  be  at  hand  to  help." 

Mrs.  Renshaw  pressed  Linda's  hand  very  tenderly  as 
they  parted  and  a  cynical  observer  might  have  been 
pardoned  for  suspecting  that  under  the  suppressed  sigh 
with  which  she  took  Philippa's  arm  there  lurked  a  wish 
that  it  had  been  the  more  docile  and  less  difficult  child 
that  fate  had  given  her  for  a  daughter. 

Linda,  at  any  rate,  proved  to  be  full  of  enthu- 
siastic and  excited  praise  for  the  sad-voiced  lady,  as  the 
sisters  went  off  with  Rachel.  She  chattered,  indeed,  so 
incessantly  about  her  that  Nance,  whose  nerves  were  in 
no  tolerant  state,  broke  out  at  last  into  a  quite  savage 
protest. 

"  She's  the  sort  of  person,"  she  threw  in,  "  who's  al- 
ways sentimental  about  young  girls.     Wait  till  you  find 


48  RODMOOR 


her  with  some  one  younger  than  you  are,  and  you'll 
soon  see!     Am  I  not  right,  Rachel?  " 

"  She's  not  right  at  all,  is  she?  "  interposed  the  other. 
Miss  Doorm  looked  at  them  gravely. 

"  I  don't  think  either  of  you  understand  Mrs.  Ren- 
shaw.  Indeed  there  aren't  many  who  do.  She's  had 
troubles  such  as  you  may  both  pray  to  God  you'll  never 
know.  That  wisp  of  a  girl  will  be  the  cause  of  others 
before  long." 

She  glanced  at  Nance  significantly. 

"  Hold  tight  to  your  Adrian,  my  love.  Hold  tight  to 
him,  my  dearie!  " 

Thus,  as  they  emerged  upon  the  tow  path  spoke 
Rachel  Doorm. 

Meanwhile,  from  his  watch  above  the  Inn,  the  name- 
less Admiral  saw  the  shadows  of  night  settle  down  upon 
his  sycamores.  His  faded  countenance,  with  its  defiant 
bravado,  stared  insolently  at  what  he  could  catch  be- 
tween trees  and  houses,  of  the  darkening  harbour  and 
if  Rodmoor  had  been  a  ship  instead  of  a  village,  and  he 
a  figurehead  instead  of  a  sign-board,  he  could  not  have 
confronted  the  unknown  and  all  that  the  unknown  might 
bring  more  indifferently,  more  casually,  more  contempt- 
uously. 


IV 

OAKGUARD 

THE  night  of  her  first  meeting  with  Adrian 
Sorio,  found  the  daughter  of  the  house  of  Ren- 
shaw  restless  and  wakeful.  She  listened  to  the 
hall  clock  striking  the  hour  of  twelve  with  an  intentness 
that  would  have  suggested  to  any  one  observing  her 
that  she  had  only  been  waiting  for  that  precise  moment 
to  plunge  into  some  nocturnal  enterprise  fraught  with 
both  sweetness  and  peril. 

The  night  was  chilly,  the  sky  starless  and  overcast. 
The  heavy  curtains  were  drawn  but  the  window,  wide- 
open  behind  them,  let  in  a  breath  of  rain-scented  air 
which  stirred  the  flames  of  the  two  silver  candles  on  the 
dressing  table  and  fluttered  the  thin  skirt  of  the  girl's 
night-dress  as  she  sat,  tense  and  expectant,  over  the  red 
coals  of  a  dying  fire. 

A  tall  gilt-framed  mirror  of  antique  design  stood  on 
the  left  of  the  fireplace. 

As  the  last  stroke  of  midnight  sounded,  the  girl  leapt 
to  her  feet  and  swiftly  divesting  herself  of  her  only 
garment,  stood  straight  and  erect,  her  hands  clasped  be- 
hind her  head,  before  this  mirror.  The  firelight  cast  a 
red  glow  over  her  long  bare  limbs  and  the  flickering 
candle  flames  threw  wavering  shadows  across  her  lifted 
arms  and  slender  neck.  Her  hair  remained  tightly 
braided  round  her  head  and  this,  added  to  the  boyish 
outlines  of  her  body,  gave  her  the  appearance  of  one  of 

those  androgynous  forms  of  later  Greek  art  whose  am- 

49 


50  RODMOOR 


biguous  loveliness  wins  us  still,  even  in  the  cold  marble, 
with  so  touching  an  appeal.  Her  smooth  forehead  and 
small  delicately  moulded  face  showed  phantom-like  in 
the  mirror.  Her  scarlet  lips  quivered  as  she  gazed  at 
herself,  quivered  into  that  enigmatic  smile  challenging 
and  inscrutable  which  seems,  more  than  any  other  hu- 
man expression,  to  have  haunted  the  imagination  of  cer- 
tain great  artists  of  the  past. 

Permitted  for  a  brief  moment  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
that  white  figure,  an  intruder,  if  possessed  of  the  small- 
est degree  of  poetic  fancy,  would  have  been  tempted  to 
dream  that  the  dust  of  the  centuries  had  indeed  been 
quickened  and  some  delicate  evocation  of  perverse  pagan 
desire  restored  to  breath  and  consciousness. 

Such  a  dream  would  not,  perhaps,  have  survived  a 
glance  at  the  girl's  face.  With  distended  pupils  and 
irises  so  large  that  they  might  have  been  under  the  in- 
fluence of  some  exciting  drug,  her  eyes  had  that  par- 
ticular look,  sorrowful  and  heavy  with  mystery,  which 
one  feels  could  not  have  been  in  the  world  before  the 
death  of  Christ. 

With  her  epicene  figure,  she  resembled  some  girl- 
priestess  of  Artemis  invoking  a  mocking  image  of  her 
own  defiant  sexlessness.  With  her  sorrowful  inhuman 
eyes  she  suggested  some  strange  elf-creature,  born  of 
mediaeval  magic. 

Turning  away  from  the  mirror,  Philippa  Renshaw 
blew  out  the  candles  and  flung  open  the  curtains. 
Standing  thus  for  a  moment  in  the  presence  of  the 
vague  starless  night  full  of  chilly  earth  odours,  she 
drew  several  long  deep  breaths  and  seemed  to  inhale  the 
very  essence  of  the  darkness  as  if  it  had  been  the  kiss  of 
some  elemental  lover.     Then  she  shivered  a  little,  closed 


OAKGUAKD  51 


the  window  and  began  hurriedly  to  dress  herself  by  the 
fire-light.  Bare-headed,  but  with  a  dark  cloak  reach- 
ing to  her  feet,  she  softly  left  her  room  and  crept  si- 
lently down  the  staircase.  One  by  one  she  drew  the 
heavy  bolts  of  the  hall  door  and  turned  the  ponderous 
key. 

Letting  herself  out  into  the  night  air  with  the  move- 
ments of  one  not  unaccustomed  to  such  escapades,  she 
hurried  down  the  stone  pathway,  passed  through  the 
iron  entrance  gates,  and  emerged  into  the  park.  Catch- 
ing up  the  skirt  of  her  cloak,  and  drawing  it  tightly 
round  her  so  that  it  should  not  impede  her  steps,  she 
plunged  into  the  wet  grass  and  directed  her  course  to- 
wards the  thickest  group  of  oak  trees.  Between  the 
immense  trunks  and  mossy  roots  of  these  sea-deformed 
and  wind-stunted  children  of  the  centuries  she  groped 
her  way,  her  feet  stumbling  over  fallen  branches  and 
her  face  whipped  by  the  young  wet  leaves. 

A  mad  desire  seemed  to  possess  her,  to  throw  off 
every  vestige  and  token  of  her  human  imprisonment  and 
to  pass  forth  free  and  unfettered  into  the  embrace  of 
the  primeval  powers.  One  would  have  thought,  to  have 
watched  her  as  she  flung  herself,  at  last,  on  her  face 
under  one  of  the  oldest  of  the  trees  and  liberating  her 
arms  from  her  cloak,  stretched  them  round  its  trunk, 
that  she  was  some  worshipper  of  a  banished  divinity  in- 
voking her  god  while  her  persecutors  slept,  and  passion- 
ately calling  upon  him  to  return  to  his  forsaken  shrine. 
Releasing  her  fierce  clasp  upon  the  rough  bark  of  the 
tree,  not  however  before  it  had  bruised  her  flesh,  the 
girl  dug  her  nails  into  the  soft  damp  leaf-mould  and 
rubbed  her  forehead  against  the  wet  moss.  She  shud- 
dered as  she  lay  like  this,  and  as  she  shuddered  she 


52  RODMOOR 


clutched  yet  more  tightly,  as  if  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy, 
the  roots  of  grass  and  the  rubble  of  earth  into  which  her 
fingers  dug. 

Meanwhile,  within  the  house,  another  little  drama  un- 
rolled itself.  In  the  old-fashioned  library  collected  by 
many  generations  of  Renshaws,  where  the  noble  Ra- 
belaisian taste  of  the  eighteenth  century  jostled  uncere- 
moniously with  the  attenuated  banalities  of  a  later 
epoch,  there  sat,  at  the  very  moment  when  the  girl  de- 
scended the  stairs,  a  tall  powerfully  built  man  in  eve- 
ning dress. 

Brand  Renshaw  was  a  figure  of  striking  and  formid- 
able appearance.  Immensely  muscular  and  very  tall, 
he  carried  upon  his  massive  shoulders  a  head  of  so 
strange  a  shape  that  had  he  been  a  mediasval  chieftain 
he  would  doubtless  have  gone  down  to  posterity  as 
Brand  Hatchet-pate,  or  Brand  Hammer-skull.  His 
head  receded  from  a  forehead  narrow  and  high,  and  rose 
at  the  back  into  a  dome-like  protrusion  which,  in  spite 
of  the  closely-clipt,  reddish  hair  that  covered  it,  sug- 
gested, in  a  manner  that  was  almost  sinister,  the  actual 
bony  substructure  of  the  cranium  beneath. 

The  fire  was  out.  The  candles  on  the  table  were  gut- 
tering and  flickering  with  little  spitting  noises  as 
their  wicks  sank  and  the  cold  hearth  in  front  of  him  was 
littered  with  the  ashes  of  innumerable  cigarettes.  He 
was  neither  reading  nor  smoking  them.  He  sat  with  his 
hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair,  staring  into  vacancy. 

Brand  Renshaw's  eyes  were  like  the  eyes  of  a  morose 
animal,  an  animal  endowed  perhaps  with  intellectual 
powers  denied  to  the  human  race,  but  still  an  animal, 
and  when  he  fixed  his  gaze  in  his  concentrated  manner 


OAKGUARD  53 


upon  the  unknown  objects  of  his  thought  there  was  a 
weight  of  heavily  focussed  intensity  in  his  stare  that 
was  unpleasantly  threatening. 

He  was  staring  in  this  way  at  the  empty  grate  when, 
in  the  dead  silence  of  the  house,  he  caught  the  sound  of 
a  furtive  step  in  the  hall  without,  and  immediately  after- 
wards the  slight  rasping  noise  of  bolts  carefully  shot 
back. 

In  a  flash  he  leapt  to  his  feet  and  extinguished  the 
guttering  candles.  Quietly  and  on  tip-toe  he  moved 
to  the  door  and  soundlessly  turning  the  handle  peered 
into  the  hall.  He  was  just  in  time  to  see  the  heavy 
front  door  closed.  Without  the  least  token  of  haste 
or  surprise  he  slipped  on  an  overcoat,  took  his  hat  and 
stick  and  went  forth  in  pursuit  of  the  escaped  one. 

At  first  he  saw  only  the  darkness  and  heard  no  sound 
but  the  angry  fiutterings  of  some  bird  in  the  high  trees, 
and  —  a  long  way  off,  perhaps  even  beyond  the  park 
—  the  frightened  squeal  of  a  hunted  rabbit.  But  by 
the  time  he  got  to  the  gate,  taking  care  to  walk  on  the 
flower-beds  rather  than  on  the  stone  pathway,  he  could 
make  out  the  figure  of  the  girl  no  great  way  in  front  of 
him.  She  ran  on,  so  straight  and  so  blindly,  towards 
the  oak  trees  that  he  was  able  without  difficulty  to  fol- 
low her  even  though,  every  now  and  then,  her  retreat- 
ing figure  was  absorbed  and  swallowed  up  by  the  dark- 
ness. 

When  at  last  he  came  up  to  her  side  as  she  lay 
stretched  out  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  he  made  no  imme- 
diate attempt  to  betray  his  presence.  With  his  arms 
folded  he  stood  regarding  her,  a  figure  as  silent  and  in- 
human as  herself,  and  over  them  both  the  vague  im- 


54  RODMOOR 


mcnsitics  and  shadowy  obscurities  of  the  huge  earth- 
scented  night  hung  lowering  and  tremendous,  like  pow- 
ers that  held  their  breath,  waiting,  watching. 

At  intervals  an  attenuated  gust  of  wind,  coming  from 
far  away  across  the  marshes,  moved  the  dead  leaves 
upon  the  ground  and  made  them  dance  a  little  death 
dance.  This  it  did  without  even  stirring  the  young 
living  shoots  on  the  boughs  above  them. 

The  darkness  seemed  to  rise  and  fall  about  the  two 
figures,  to  advance,  to  recede,  to  dilate,  to  diminish,  in 
waves  of  alternate  opacity  and  tenuity.  In  its  indraw- 
ings  and  outbreathings,  in  the  ebb  and  flow  of  its  fluctu- 
ating presence,  it  seemed  to  beat  —  at  least  that  is  how 
Brand  Renshaw  felt  it  —  like  the  pulse  of  an  immense 
heart  charged  with  unutterable  mysteries. 

This  illusion,  if  it  were  an  illusion,  may  have  been 
due  to  nothing  more  recondite  than  the  fact  that,  in  the 
silence  of  the  heavy  night,  the  sound  of  the  tide  on  the 
Rodmoor  sands  was  the  background  of  everything. 

It  was  not  till  the  girl  rose  from  the  ground  that  she 
saw  him  standing  there,  a  shadow  among  the  shadows. 
She  uttered  a  low  cry  and  made  a  movement  as  if  to 
rush  away,  but  he  stepped  quickly  forward  and  caught 
her  in  his  arms.  Tightly  and  almost  savagely  he  held 
her,  pressing  her  lithe  body  against  his  own  and  caress- 
ing it  with  little,  deep-voiced  mutterings  as  if  he  were 
soothing  a  desperate  child.  She  submitted  passively 
to  his  endearments  and  then,  with  a  sound  that  was 
something  between  a  moan  and  a  laugh,  she  whispered 
brokenly  into  his  ear,  "  Let  me  go.  Brand,  I  was  silly  to 
come  out.  I  couldn't  help  it.  I  won't  do  it  again.  I 
won't,  I  swear." 

"  No,  I  think  you  won't !  "  the  man  muttered,  keep- 


OAKGUARD  55 


ing  his  arm  securely  round  her  waist  and  striding  swiftly 
towards  tlie  house.     "  No,  I  think  you  won't!  " 

He  paused  when  they  reached  the  entrance  into  the 
garden  and,  taking  her  by  the  wrists,  pressed  her  fiercely 
against  one  of  the  stone  pillars  upon  which  the  gate 
hung. 

"  I  know  what  it  is,"  he  whispered.  "  You  can't  de- 
ceive nie.  You've  been  with  those  people  from  London. 
You've  been  with  that  friend  of  Baltazar's.  That's  the 
cause  of  all  this,  isn't  it?  You've  been  with  that  damned 
fool  —  that  idiotic,  good-for-nothing  down  at  the  vil- 
lage.    Haven't  you  been  with  him?     Haven't  you?" 

The  arms  with  which  he  pressed  her  hands  against 
her  breast  trembled  with  anger  as  he  said  these  words. 

"  Baltazar  told  me,"  he  went  on,  "  only  this  morning 
—  down  at  Mundham  —  everything  about  these  peo- 
ple. They're  of  no  interest,  none,  not  the  least. 
They're  just  like  every  one  else.  That  fellow's  half- 
foreign,  that's  all.  An  American  half-breed,  of  some 
mongrel  sort  or  other,  that's  all  there  is  to  be  said  of 
him!  So  if  you've  been  letting  any  mad  fancies  get 
into  your  head  about  Mr.  Sorio,  the  sooner  you  get  rid 
of  them  the  better.  He's  not  for  you.  Do  you  hear? 
He's  —  not  —  for  —  you !  "  These  last  words  were  ac- 
companied by  so  savage  a  tightening  of  the  hands 
that  held  her  that  the  girl  was  compelled  to  bite  her  lip 
to  stop  herself  from  crying. 

"  You  hurt  me,"  she  said  calmly.  "  Let  me  go, 
Brand."  The  self-contained  tone  of  her  voice  seemed 
to  quiet  him  and  he  released  her.  She  raised  one  of  her 
wrists  to  her  mouth  and  softly  caressed  it  with  her  lips. 

"  You'll  be  interested,  yourself,  in  these  people  be- 
fore very  long,"  she  murmured,  flashing  a  mocking  look 


56  RODMOOR 


at  him  over  her  bare  arm.  "  The  second  girl  is  very 
young  and  very  pretty.  She  confided  in  me  that  she 
was  extremely  afraid  of  the  sea.  She  appealed  to 
mother's  protective  instincts  at  once.  I've  no  doubt 
she'll  appeal  to  your  —  protective  instincts  !  So  don't 
be  too  quick  in  3'our  condemnation." 

"  Damn  you  !  "  muttered  her  brother,  pushing  the  gate 
open.  "  Come !  Get  in  with  you !  You  talk  to  me  as 
if  I  were  a  professional  rake.  I  take  no  interest  —  not 
the  slightest  —  in  your  young  innocents  with  their  en- 
gaging terrors.     To  bed !     To  bed  !     To  bed !  " 

He  pushed  her  before  him  along  the  path,  but  Phi- 
lippa  knew  well  that  the  hand  on  her  shoulder  was 
lighter  and  less  angry  than  the  one  that  had  held  her  a 
moment  ago,  and  as  she  ascended  the  steps  of  Oak- 
guard  —  the  name  borne  by  the  Renshaw  house  since 
the  days  of  the  Conqueror  —  there  flickered  over  her 
shadowy  face  the  same  equivocal  smile  of  dubious  mean- 
ing that  had  looked  out  at  its  owner,  not  so  long  since, 
from  the  mirror  in  her  room. 

When  the  dawn  finally  crept  up,  pallid  and  cold  out 
of  the  North  Sea  and  lifted,  with  a  sort  of  mechanical 
weariness,  the  weight  of  the  shadows,  it  was  neither 
Brand  nor  Philippa  who  was  awake. 

Roused,  as  always,  by  the  slightest  approach  of  an 
unusual  sound,  the  mother  of  that  strange  pair  had  lain 
in  her  bed  listening  ever  since  her  daughter's  first  emerg- 
ing from  the  house. 

Once  she  had  risen,  and  had  stood  for  a  moment  at 
the  window,  her  loose  grey  hair  mixed  with  the  folds  of 
an  old,  faded,  dusky-coloured  shawl.  That,  however, 
was  when  both  of  her  children  were  away  in  the  middle 
of  the  park  and  absolute  silence  prevailed.     With  this 


OAKGUARD  67 


single  exception  she  had  remained  listening,  always  si- 
lently listening,  lying  on  her  back  and  with  an  expres- 
sion of  tragic  and  harassed  expectation  in  her  great, 
hollow,  brown  eyes.  She  might  have  been  taken,  lying 
there  alone  in  the  big  four-posted  bed,  surrounded  by 
an  immense  litter  of  stored-up  curios  and  mementoes, 
for  a  symbolic  image  of  all  that  is  condemned,  as  this 
mortal  world  goes  round,  to  watch  and  wait  and  invoke 
the  gods  and  cling  fast  to  such  pathetic  relics  and 
memorials  as  time  consents  to  leave  of  the  days  that  it 
has  annihilated. 

Slowly  the  dawn  came  up  upon  the  trees  and  roofs  of 
Oakguard.  With  a  wan  grey  light  it  filled  the  pallid 
squares  of  the  windows.  With  a  livid  grey  light  it 
made  definite  and  ghastly  every  hollow  and  every  wrinkle 
in  that  patient  watcher's  face. 

Travelling  far  up  in  the  sky,  a  long  line  of  marsh- 
fowl  with  outstretched  necks  sought  the  remoter  soli- 
tudes of  the  fens.  In  the  river  marshes  the  sedge-birds 
uttered  their  harsh  twitterings  while,  gathered  in  flocks 
above  the  sand-dunes,  the  sea-gulls  screamed  to  the  in- 
flowing tide  their  hunger  for  its  drifted  refuse. 

Wearily,  at  last,  Helen  Renshaw  closed  her  eyes  and 
it  was  the  first  streak  of  sunshine  that  Rodmoor  had 
known  for  many  days  which,  several  hours  later,  kissed 
her  white  forehead  —  and  the  grey  hairs  that  lay  dis- 
ordered across  it  —  softly,  gently,  tenderly,  as  it  might 
have  kissed  the  forehead  of  the  dead. 


V 

A  SYMPOSIUM 

ADRIAN  SORIO  sat  opposite  his  friend  over  a 
warm  brightly  burning  fire. 
Baltazar  Stork  was  a  slight  frail  man  of 
so  delicate  and  dainty  an  appearance  that  many  people 
were  betrayed  into  behaving  towards  him  as  gently  and 
considerately  as  if  he  had  been  a  girl.  This,  though  a 
compliment  to  his  fragility,  was  bad  policy  in  those  who 
practised  it,  for  Baltazar  was  an  egoist  of  inflexible 
temper  and  under  his  velvet  glove  carried  a  hand  of 
steel. 

The  room  in  which  the  two  friends  conversed  was  fur- 
nished in  exquisite  and  characteristic  taste.  Old  prints, 
few  in  number  and  rare  in  quality,  adorned  its  walls. 
Precious  pieces  of  china,  invaluable  statuettes  in  pot- 
tery and  metal,  stood  charmingly  arranged,  with  due 
space  round  each,  in  every  corner.  On  either  side  of 
the  mantelpiece  was  a  Meissen-ware  figure  of  engaging 
aspect  and  Watteau-like  design,  while  in  the  centre,  in 
the  place  where  a  clock  is  usually  to  be  found,  was  a 
piece  of  statuary  of  ravishing  delicacy  and  grace  repre- 
senting the  escape  of  Syrinx  from  the  hands  of  Pan. 

The  most  remarkable  picture  in  the  room,  attracting 

the  attention  at  once  of  all  who  entered,  was  a  dark, 

richly  coloured,  oval-shaped  portrait  —  a  portrait  of  a 

young  man  in  a  Venetian  cloak,  with  a  broad,  smooth 

forehead,  heavy-lidded  penetrating  eyes,  and  pouting 

58 


A  SYMPOSIUM 59 

disdainful  mouth.  This  picture,  said  to  have  been 
painted  under  the  influence  of  Giorgione  by  that  incom- 
parable artist's  best  loved  friend,  passed  for  a  portrait 
of  Eugenio  Flambard,  the  favourite  secretary  of  the  Re- 
public's most  famous  ambassador  during  his  residence 
at  the  Papal  Court. 

The  majority  of  these  treasures  had  been  picked  up 
by  Baltazar  during  certain  prolonged  holidays  in  vari- 
ous parts  of  the  Continent.  This,  however,  was  several 
years  ago  before  the  collapse  of  the  investment,  or 
whatever  it  was,  which  he  inherited  from  Herman  Ren- 
shaw. 

Since  that  time  he  had  been  more  or  less  dependent 
upon  Brand,  a  dependence  which  notiiing  but  his  happy 
relations  with  Brand's  mother  and  sister  and  his  unfail- 
ing urbanity  could  have  made  tolerable. 

"  Adrian,  you  old  villain,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  you'd 
seen  Philippa.  Brand  informed  me  yesterday  that 
you've  seen  her  twice.  This  isn't  the  kind  of  thing  that 
pleases  me  at  all.  I  don't  approve  of  these  clandestine 
meetings.  Do  you  hear  me,  you  old  reprobate?  You 
don't  think  it's  very  nice,  do  you,  for  me  to  learn  by 
accident  —  by  a  sort  of  wretched  accident  —  of  an  event 
like  this?  If  you  must  be  at  these  little  games  you 
might  at  least  be  open  about  them.  Besides,  I  have  a 
brotherly  interest  in  Philippa.  I  don't  want  to  have 
her  innocence  corrupted  by  an  old  satyr  like  you." 

Sorio  contented  himself  by  murmuring  the  word 
"  Rats." 

"  It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  cry  *  Rats ! '  in  that 
tone,"  went  on  the  other.  "  The  truth  is,  this  affair  is 
going  to  become  serious.  You  don't  suppose  for  a  mo- 
ment, do  you,  that  your  Nance  is  going  to  lie  down,  as 


60  RODMOOR 


they  say,  and  let  my  extraordinary  sister  walk  over 
her?" 

Adrian  got  up  from  his  seat  and  began  pacing  up 
and  down  the  little  room. 

"  It's  absurd,"  he  muttered,  "  it's  all  absurd.  I  feel 
as  if  the  whole  thing  were  a  kind  of  devilish  dream. 
Yes,  the  whole  thing !  It's  all  because  I've  got  nothing 
to  do  but  walk  up  and  down  these  damned  sands !  " 

Baltazar  watched  him  with  a  serene  smile,  his  soft 
chin  supported  by  his  feminine  fingers  and  his  fair, 
curly  head  tilted  a  little  on  one  side. 

"  But  you  know,  mon  enfant,"  he  threw  in  with  a 
teasing  caress  in  his  voice,  "  you  know  very  well  you're 
the  last  person  to  talk  of  work.  It  was  work  that  did 
for  you  in  America.  You  don't  want  to  start  that 
over  again,  do  you?  " 

Adrian  stood  still  and  glared  at  him. 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  let  that  —  as  you  call  it 
—  finish  me  forever?  My  life's  only  begun.  In  Lon- 
don it  was  different.  By  God !  I  wish  I'd  stayed  in 
London!  Nance  feels  just  the  same.  I  know  she  does. 
She'll  have  to  get  something,  too,  or  we  shall  both  go 
mad.  It's  this  cursed  sea  of  yours !  I've  a  good  mind 
to  marry  her,  out  of  hand,  and  clear  off.  We'd  find 
something  —  somewhere  —  anywhere  —  to  keep  body 
and  soul  together." 

"  Why  did  you  come  to  us  at  all,  my  dear,  if  you  find 
us  so  dreadful?  "  laughed  Baltazar,  bending  down  to 
tie  his  shoe-string  and  pull  up  more  tightly  one  of  his 
silk  socks. 

Adrian  made  no  answer  but  continued  his  ferocious 
pacing  of  the  room. 

"  You'll  knock  something  over  if  you're  not  careful," 


A  SYMPOSIUM 61 

protested  his  friend,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  You're 
the  most  troublesome  fellow.  You  accept  a  person's 
oflFer  and  make  no  end  of  a  fuss  over  it,  and  then  a 
couple  of  weeks  later  you  roar  like  a  bull  and  send  us 
all  to  the  devil.  What's  the  matter  with  us.'*  What's 
the  matter  with  the  place.'*  Why  can't  you  and  your 
precious  Nance  behave  like  ordinary  people  and  make 
love  to  one  another  and  be  happy?  She's  got  all  her 
time  to  herself  and  you've  got  all  your  time  to  yourself. 
Why  can't  you  enjoy  yourselves  and  collect  seaweed 
or  starfish  or  something?  " 

Adrian  paused  in  his  savage  prowl  for  the  second 
time. 

"  It's  your  confounded  sea  that's  at  the  bottom  of 
it,"  he  shouted.  "  It  gets  on  her  nerves  and  it  gets  on 
mine.  Little  Linda  was  perfectly  right  to  be  scared  of 
it." 

"  I  fancied,"  drawled  the  other,  selecting  a  cigarette 
from  an  enamelled  box  and  turning  up  the  lamp,  "  you 
found  little  Linda's  fears  rather  engaging  than  other- 
wise. 

"  It  works  upon  us,"  Sorio  went  on,  heedless  of  the 
interruption,  "  it  works  upon  us  in  some  damnable  kind 
of  way!  Nance  says  she  hears  it  in  her  sleep. 
I'm  sure  /  do.  I  hear  it  without  a  moment's  cessation. 
Listen  to  the  thing  now  —  shish,  shish,  shish,  shishf 
Why  can't  it  make  some  other  noise?  Why  can't  it 
stop  altogether?  It  makes  me  long  for  the  whole 
damned  farce  to  end.  It  annoys  me,  Tassar,  it  annoys 
me !  " 

"  Sorry  you  find  the  elements  so  trying,  Adriano," 
replied  the  other  languidly,  "  but  I  really  don't  know 
what  I  can  do  to  help  you  —  I  can  only  advise  you  to 


62  RODMOOR 


keep  out  of  Phiiippa's  way.  She's  an  element  more 
troublesome  than  any  of  them." 

*'  Tassar !  "  shouted  the  enraged  man  in  a  burst  of 
fury,  "  if  you  don't  stop  dragging  Philippa  in,  I'll 
murder  you!  What's  Philippa  to  me.''  I  hate  her  — 
do  you  hear.''     I  hate  the  very  sound  of  her  name! " 

*' Her  name.'*"  murmured  Stork,  meditatively,  "her 
name.''  Oh,  I  think  you're  quite  wrong  to  hate  that. 
Her  name  suggests  all  sorts  of  interesting  things. 
Her  name  has  quite  a  historic  sound.  It's  mediaeval  in 
colour  and  Greek  in  form.  It  makes  me  think  of  Eurip- 
ides." 

"  This  whole  damned  Rodmoor  of  yours,"  moaned 
Adrian,  "  gets  too  much  for  me.  Where  on  earth  else, 
could  a  man  find  it  so  hard  to  collect  his  thoughts  and 
look  at  things  as  they  are.''  There's  something  here 
which  works  upon  the  mind,  Tassar,  something  which 
works  upon  the  mind." 

"  What's  working  on  your  mind,  my  friend,"  laughed 
Baltazar  Stork,  "  is  not  anything  so  vague  as  dreams  or 
anything  so  simple  as  the  sea.  It's  just  the  quite  defi- 
nite but  somewhat  complicated  business  of  managing 
two  love  affairs  at  the  same  time!  I'm  sorry  for  you, 
little  Adrian,  I'm  extremely  sorry  for  you.  It's  a  situ- 
ation not  unknown  in  the  history  of  the  world,  in  fact, 
it  might  be  called  quite  common.  But  I'm  afraid  that 
doesn't  make  it  any  pleasanter  for  you.  However,  it 
can  be  dealt  with,  with  a  little  skill,  Adrian,  with  just  a 
little  skill!" 

The  man  accused  in  this  teasing  manner  turned  fu- 
riously round,  an  angry  outburst  of  blind  protest  trem- 
bling on  his  tongue.  At  that  moment  there  was  a  low 
knock  at  the  outer  door.     Baltazar  jumped  to  his  feet. 


A  SYMPOSIUM 63 

"  That  must  be  Kaughtj,"  he  cried.  ''  1  begged  hhn 
to  come  round  to-night.  I  so  longed  for  you  to  meet 
him."  He  hastened  out  and  admitted  the  visitor  with  a 
cordial  welcome.  After  a  momentary  pause  and  a 
good  deal  of  shuffling  —  for  Dr.  Raughty  was  careful  to 
wear  not  only  an  overcoat  but  also  goloshes  and  even 
gaiters  when  the  weather  was  inclement  —  the  two  men 
entered  the  room  and  Stork  began  an  elaborate  intro- 
duction. 

"Dr.  Fingal  Raughty,"  he  said,  "Mr.  Adrian—" 
but  to  his  astonishment  Sorio  intervened,  "  The  Doctor 
and  I  have  already  become  quite  well  acquainted,"  he 
remarked,  shaking  the  visitor  vigorously  by  the  hand. 
"  I'm  afraid  I  wasn't  as  polite  as  I  ought  to  have  been 
on  that  occasion,"  he  went  on,  speaking  in  an  unnatu- 
rally loud  voice  and  with  a  forced  laugh,  "  but  the  Doc- 
tor will  forgive  me.  The  Doctor  I'm  sure  will  make  al- 
lowances." 

Dr.  Raughty  gave  him  a  quick  glance,  at  once 
friendly  and  ironical,  and  then  he  turned  to  Stork. 
"  Mother  Lorman's  dead,"  he  remarked  with  a  little 
sigh,  "  dead  at  last.  She  was  ninety-seven  and  had 
thirty  grandchildren.  She  gurgled  in  her  throat  at  the 
last  with  a  noise  like  a  nightingale  when  its  voice  breaks 
in  June.  I  prefer  deaths  of  this  kind  to  any  other,  but 
they're  all  pitiful." 

"  Nance  tells  me  you  were  present  at  old  Doorm's 
death.  Doctor,"  said  Adrian  while  their  host  moved  off 
to  the  kitchen  to  secure  glasses  and  refreshment. 

The  Doctor  nodded.  "  I  measured  that  fellow's 
skull,"  he  remarked  gravely.  "  It  was  asj-mmetrical 
and  very  curiously  so.  The  interesting  thing  is  that 
there  exists  in  this  part  of  the  coast  a  definite  tradition 


64  RODMOOR 


of  malformed  skulls.  They  recur  in  nearly  all  the  old 
families.  Brand  Rcnshaw  is  a  splendid  example.  His 
skull  ought  to  be  given  to  a  museum.  It  is  beautiful, 
quite  beautiful,  in  the  anterior  lobes." 

Baltazar  returned  carrying  a  tray.  The  eyes  of 
Dr.  Raughty  gleamed  with  a  mellow  warmth.  "  Nut- 
meg," he  remarked,  approaching  the  tray  and  touch- 
ing every  object  upon  it  lightly  and  reverently. 
"  Nutmeg,  lemon,  hot  water,  gin  —  and  brandy !  It's 
an  admirable  choice  and  profoundly  adapted  to  the  oc- 
casion. May  I  put  the  hot  water  on  the  hob  until  we're 
ready  for  it.''  " 

While  Baltazar  once  more  withdrew  from  the  scene, 
Dr.  Raughty  remarked,  gravely  and  irritably,  to  Sorio 
that  it  was  a  mistake  to  substitute  brandy  for  rum. 
"  He  does  it  because  he  can't  get  the  best  rum,  but  it's  a 
ridiculous  thing  to  do.  Any  rum  is  better  than  no 
rum  when  it's  a  question  of  punch-making.  Are  you 
with  me  in  this,  Mr.  Sorio.''  " 

Adrian  expressed  such  complete  and  emphatic  agree- 
ment that  for  the  moment  the  Doctor  seemed  almost  em- 
barrassed. 

On  Baltazar's  return  to  the  room,  however,  he  haz- 
arded another  suggestion.  "  What  about  having  the 
kettle  itself  brought  in  here?  " 

Stork  looked  at  him  without  speaking  and  placed  on 
the  table  a  small  plate  of  macaroons.  The  Doctor 
glanced  whimsically  at  Sorio  and,  helping  himself  from 
the  little  plate,  muttered  in  a  low  voice  after  he  had 
nibbled  the  edge  of  a  biscuit,  "  Yes,  these  seem  per- 
fectly up  to  par  to-day." 

The  three  men  had  scarcely  settled  themselves  down 


A  SYMPOSIUM  65 

in  their  respective  chairs  around  the  fire  than  Adrian 
began  speaking  hurriedly  and  nervously. 

"  I  have  an  extraordinary  feeling,"  he  said,  "  that 
this  evening  is  full  of  fatal  significance.  I  suppose 
it's  nothing  to  either  of  you,  but  it  seems  to  me  as 
though  this  damned  shish,  shish,  shish,  shish  of  the  sea 
were  nearer  and  louder  than  usual.  Doctor,  you  don't 
mind  my  talking  freely  to  you?  I  like  you,  though  I 
was  rude  to  you  the  other  day  —  but  that's  nothing  —  " 
he  waved  his  hand,  "  that's  what  any  fool  might 
fall  into  who  didn't  know  you.  I  feel  I  know  you  now. 
That  word  about  the  rum  —  forgive  me,  Tassar  !  —  and 
the  kettle  —  3'es,  particularly  about  the  kettle  —  hit 
me  to  the  heart.  I  love  you.  Doctor  Raughty.  I 
announce  to  you  that  my  feeling  at  this  moment 
amounts  to  love  —  yes,  actually  to  love ! 

"  But  that's  not  what  I  wanted  to  say."  He  thrust 
his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets,  stretched  his  legs 
straight  out,  let  his  chin  sink  upon  his  chest  and  glared 
at  them  with  sombre  excitement.  "  I  feel  to-night,"  he 
went  on,  "  as  though  some  great  event  were  portending. 
No,  no!  What  am  I  saying?  Not  an  event.  Event 
isn't  the  word.  Event's  a  silly  expression,  isn't  it. 
Doctor, —  isn't  it  —  dear,  noble-looking  man?  For 
you  do  look  noble,  you  know.  Doctor,  as  you  drink  that 
punch  —  though  to  say  the  truth  your  nose  isn't  quite 
straight  as  I  see  it  from  here,  and  there  are  funny 
blotches  on  your  face.  No,  not  there.  There!  Don't 
you  see  them,  Tassar?  Blotches  —  curious  purply 
blotches." 

While  this  outburst  proceeded  Mr.  Stork  fidgeted  un- 
easily in  his  chair.     Though  sufficiently  accustomed  to 


66  RODMOOR 


Sorio's  eccentricities  and  well  aware  of  his  medical 
friend's  profound  pathological  interest  in  all  rare 
types,  there  was  something  so  outrageous  about  this 
particular  tirade  that  it  offended  what  was  a  very 
dominant  instinct  in  him,  his  sense,  namely,  of  social 
decency  and  good  breeding.  Possibly  in  a  measure  be- 
cause of  the  "  bar  sinister  "  over  his  own  origin,  but 
much  more  because  of  the  nicety  of  his  aesthetic  taste, 
anything  approaching  a  social  fiasco  or  faux  pas 
always  annoyed  him  excessively.  Fortunately,  how- 
ever, on  this  occasion  nothing  could  have  surpassed  the 
sweetness  with  which  Adrian's  wild  phrases  were  re- 
ceived by  the  person  addressed. 

"  One  would  think  you'd  drunk  half  the  punch  al- 
ready, Sorio,"  Baltazar  murmured  at  last.  "  What's 
come  over  you  to-night?  I  don't  think  I've  ever  known 
you  quite  like  this." 

"  Remind  me  to  tell  you  something,  Mr.  Sorio,  when 
you've  finished  what  you  have  to  say,"  remarked  Dr. 
Raughty. 

"  Listen,  you  two ! "  Adrian  began  again,  sitting 
erect,  his  hands  on  the  arms  of  his  chair.  "  There's 
a  reason  for  this  feeling  of  mine  that  there's  something 
fatal  on  the  wind  to-night.     There's  a  reason  for  it." 

"  Tell  us  as  near  as  you  can,"  said  Dr.  Raughty, 
"  what  exactly  it  is  that  you're  talking  about." 

Adrian  fixed  upon  him  a  gloomy,  puzzled  frown. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  he  said  slowly,  "  that  it's  for 
nothing  that  we  three  are  together  here  in  hearing  of 
that  — " 

Baltazar  interrupted  him.  "  Don't  say  '  shish,  shish, 
shish  '  again,  my  dear.  Your  particular  way  of  imitat- 
ing the  Great  Deep  gives  me  no  pleasure." 


A  SY^IPOSIUM 67 

"  What  I  meant  \va.s,"  iSorio  raised  his  voice,  ''  it's 
a  strange  thing  tliat  wc  three  sliould  be  sitting  together 
now  like  this  when  two  months  ago  I  was  in  prison  in 
New  York." 

Baltazar  made  a  little  deprecatory  gesture,  while  the 
Doctor  leaned  forward  with  grave  interest. 

"  But  that's  nothing,"  Sorio  went  on,  "  that's  a 
trifle.  Baltazar  knows  all  about  that.  The  thing  I 
want  you  two  to  recognise  is  that  something's  on  the 
wind, —  that  something's  on  the  point  of  happening. 
Do  3'ou  feel  like  that  —  or  don't  3'ou?  " 

There  was  a  long  and  rather  oppressive  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  continuous  murmur  which  in  every 
house  in  Rodmoor  was  the  background  of  all  conversa- 
tion. 

"  What  I  was  going  to  say  a  moment  ago,"  remarked 
the  Doctor  at  last,  "  was  that  in  this  place  it's  neces- 
sary to  protect  oneself  from  that."  He  jerked  his 
thumb  towards  the  window.  "  Our  friend  Tassar  does 
it  by  the  help  of  Flambard  over  there."  He  indicated 
the  Venetian.  "  I  do  it  by  the  help  of  my  medicine- 
chest.  Hamish  Traherne  does  it  by  saying  his  prayers. 
What  I  should  like  to  know  is  how  you,"  he  stretched 
a  warning  finger  in  the  direction  of  Sorio,  "  propose  to 
do  it." 

Baltazar  at  this  point  jumped  up  from  his  seat. 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  Fingal,"  he  cried  peevishly.  "  You'll 
make  Adrian  unendurable.  I'm  perfectly  sick  of  hear- 
ing references  to  this  absurd  salt-water.  Other  people 
have  to  live  in  coast  towns  besides  ourselves.  WHiy  can't 
you  let  the  thing  take  its  proper  position?  Why  can't 
you  take  it  for  granted?  The  whole  subject  gets  on 
my  nerves.     It  bores  me,  I  tell  3'ou,  it  bores  me  to  tears. 


68  RODMOOR 


For  Heaven's  sake,  let's  talk  of  something  else  —  of 
any  damned  thing.  You  both  make  me  thoroughly 
wretched  with  your  sea  whispers.  It's  as  bad  as  hav- 
ing to  spend  an  evening  at  Oakguard  alone  with  Aunt 
Helen  and  Philippa." 

His  peevishness  had  an  instantaneous  effect  upon 
Sorio  who  pushed  him  affectionately  back  into  his  chair 
and  handed  him  his  glass.  "  So  sorry,  Tassar,"  he 
said.  "  I  won't  do  it  again.  I  was  beginning  to  feel 
a  little  odd  to-night.  One  can't  go  through  the  ex- 
perience of  cerebral  dementia  —  doesn't  that  sound 
right,  Doctor?  —  without  some  little  trifling  after-ef- 
fects. Come,  let's  be  sensible  and  talk  of  things  that 
are  really  important.  It's  not  an  occasion  to  be  missed, 
is  it,  Tassar,  having  the  Doctor  here  and  punch  made 
with  brandy  instead  of  rum,  on  the  table?  What  in- 
terests me  so  much  just  now,"  he  placed  himself  in  front 
of  the  fire-place  and  sighed  heavily,  "  is  what  a  per- 
son's to  do  who  hasn't  got  a  penny  and  is  unfit  for  every 
sort  of  occupation.  What  do  you  advise,  Doctor? 
And  by  the  way,  why  have  you  eaten  up  all  the  maca- 
roons while  I  was  talking?  " 

This  remark  really  did  seem  a  little  to  embarrass  the 
person  indicated,  but  Sorio  continued  without  waiting 
for  a  reply. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you're  right,  Tassar.  It's  a  mis- 
take to  be  sensitive  to  the  attraction  of  young  girls. 
But  it's  difficult  —  isn't  it.  Doctor?  —  not  to  be. 
They're  so  maddeningly  delicious,  aren't  they,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it?  It's  something  about  the  way 
their  heads  turn  —  the  line  from  the  throat,  you  know 
—  and  about  the  way  they  speak  —  something  pa- 
thetic,  something  —  what   shall   I   call   it  ?  —  helpless. 


A  SYMPOSIUM 69 

It  quite  disarms  a  person.  It's  more  than  pathetic,  it's 
tragic." 

The  Doctor  looked  at  him  meditatively.  "  I  think 
there's  a  poem  of  Goethe's  which  would  bear  that  out," 
he  remarked,  "  if  I'm  not  mistaken  it  was  written  after 
he  visited  Sicily  —  yes,  after  that  storm  at  sea,  you 
remember,  when  the  story  of  Christ's  walking  on  the 
waves  came  into  his  mind." 

Sorio  wrinkled  up  his  eyes  and  peered  at  the  speaker 
with  a  sort  of  humorous  malignity. 

"  Doctor,"  he  said,  "  pardon  my  telling  you,  but 
you've  still  got  some  crumbs  on  your  moustache." 

"  The  one  word,"  put  in  their  host,  while  Dr. 
Haughty  moved  very  hastily  away  from  the  table  and 
surveyed  himself  with  a  whimsical  puckering  of  all  the 
lines  in  his  face,  at  one  of  Stork's  numerous  mirrors, 
"  the  one  word  that  I  shall  henceforth  refuse  to  have 
pronounced  in  my  house  is  the  word  '  sea.'  I'm  sur- 
prised to  hear  that  Goethe  —  a  man  of  classical  taste  — 
ever  refers  to  such  Gothic  abominations." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Sorio,  "  the  great  Goethe !  The  sly  old 
curmudgeon  Goethe!  He  knew  how  to  deal  with  these 
little  velvet  paws  !  " 

Dr.  Raughty,  reseating  himself,  drummed  absent- 
mindedly  with  his  fingers  upon  the  empty  macaroon 
plate.  Then  with  a  soft  and  pensive  sigh  he  produced 
his  tobacco  pouch,  and  filling  his  pipe,  struck  a  match. 

"  Doctor,"  murmured  Sorio,  his  rebellious  lips  curved 
into  a  sardonic  smile  and  his  eyes  screwed  up  till  they 
looked  as  sinister  as  those  of  his  namesake,  Hadrian, 
"  why  do  you  move  your  head  backwards  and  forwards 
like  that,  when  you  light  your  pipe?  " 

"  Don't  answer  him,  Fingal,"  expostulated  Baltazar, 


70  RODMOOR 


"  he's  beliaving  badly  now.  He's  '  showing  off  '  as  they 
say  of  children." 

"  I'm  not  showing  off,"  cried  Sorio  loudly,  "  I'm 
asking  the  Doctor  a  perfectly  polite  question.  It's 
very  interesting  the  way  he  lights  his  pipe.  There's 
more  in  it  than  appears.  There's  a  great  deal  in  it. 
It's  a  secret  of  the  Doctor's ;  probably  a  pantheistic 
one." 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  by  a  *  pantheistic ' 
one?  How,  under  Heaven,  can  the  way  Fingal  holds  a 
match  be  termed  *  pantheistic '.f^  "  protested  Stork  ir- 
ritably. "  You're  really  going  a  little  too  far,  Adriano 
mio. 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  argued  Sorio,  stretching  out 
his  long,  lean  arms  and  grasping  the  back  of  a  chair. 
"  The  Doctor  can  deny  it  or  not,  as  he  pleases,  but 
what  I  say  is  perfectly  true.  He  gets  a  cosmic  ecstasy 
from  moving  his  head  up  and  down  like  that.  He  feels 
as  if  he  were  the  centre  of  the  universe  w^hen  he  does 
it." 

The  Doctor  looked  sideways  and  then  upon  the 
ground.     Sorio's  rudeness  evidently  disconcerted  him. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  rising  from  his  chair  and  putting 
down  his  glass,  "  I  must  be  going  now.  I've  an  early 
call  to  make  to-morrow  morning." 

Baltazar  cast  a  reproachful  look  at  Adrian  and  rose 
too.  They  went  into  the  hall  together  and  the  same 
shufflings  and  heavy  breathings  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
listener  as  on  Raughty's  arrival.  The  Doctor  was 
putting  on  his  goloshes  and  gaiters. 

Adrian  went  out  to  see  him  off  and,  as  if  to  make  up 
for  his  bad  behaviour,  walked  with  him  across  the  green, 
to  his  house  in  the  main  street.     They  parted  at  last. 


A  SY^NIPOSIUM 71 

the  best  of  good  friends,  but  Sorio  found  lialtazar  seri- 
ously provoked  wlicn  he  returned. 

"  Why  did  you  treat  him  like  that?  "  tlie  latter  per- 
sisted. "  You've  got  no  grudge  against  him,  have  you? 
It  was  just  your  silly  fashion  of  getting  even  with 
things  in  general,  eh?  Your  nice  little  habit  of  venting 
your  bad  temper  on  the  most  harmless  person  within 
reach?" 

Sorio  stared  blankly  at  his  friend.  It  was  unusual 
for  Mr.  Stork  to  express  himself  so  strongly. 

"  I'm  sorry,  my  dear,  ver}^  sorry,"  muttered  the  ac- 
cused man,  looking  remorsefully  at  the  Doctor's  empty 
glass  and  plate. 

"You  may  well  be,"  rejoined  the  other.  "The  one 
thing  I  can't  stand  is  this  sort  of  social  lapse.  It's 
unpardonable  —  unpardonable !  Besides,  it's  childish. 
Hit  out  by  all  means  when  there's  reason  for  it  or 
you're  dealing  with  some  scurvy  dog  who  needs  sup- 
pressing but  to  make  a  sensitive  person  like  Fingal  un- 
comfortable, out  of  a  pure  spirit  of  bullying  —  it's 
damnable!  " 

"  I'm  sorry,  Tassar,"  repeated  the  other  meekly.  "  I 
can't  think  why  I  did  it.  He's  certainl}'  a  charming 
person.  I'll  make  up  to  him,  my  dear.  I'll  be  gentle 
as  a  Iamb  when  I  see  him  next." 

Baltazar  smiled  and  made  a  humorous  and  hopeless 
gesture  with  his  hands.  "  We  shall  see,"  he  said,  "  we 
shall  see." 

He  locked  the  door  and  lit  a  couple  of  candles  with 
ritualistic  deliberation.  "  Turn  out  the  lamp,  amico 
mio,  and  let  us  sleep  on  all  this.  The  best  way  of 
choosing  between  two  loves  is  to  say  one's  prayers  and 
go  to  bed.     These  things  decide  themselves  in  dreams." 


72  RODMOOR 


"  In  dreams,"  repeated  the  other,  submissively  fol- 
lowing him  upstairs,  "  in  dreams.  But  I  wish  I  knew 
why  the  Doctor's  ankles  look  so  thick  when  he  sits 
down.     He  must  wear  extraordinary  under-clothes." 


YI 

BRIDGE-HEAD  AND  WITHY-BED 

PHILIPPA  RENSHAW'S  light-spoken  words 
about  Linda  recurred  more  than  once  to 
the  mind  of  the  master  of  Oakguard  as  April 
gave  place  to  May  and  May  itself  began  to  slip 
by.  The  wet  fields  and  stunted  woods  of  Rodmoor 
seemed  at  that  time  to  be  making  a  conscious  and  al- 
most human  effort  to  throw  off  the  repressive  influence 
of  the  sea  and  to  respond  to  the  kindlier  weather.  The 
grasses  began  to  grow  high  and  feathery  by  the  road- 
side, and  in  the  water-meadows,  buttercups  superseded 
marigolds. 

As  he  went  to  and  fro  between  his  house  and  his 
office  in  Mundham,  Brand  —  though  he  made  as  yet  no 
attempt  to  see  her  —  became  more  and  more  preoccu- 
pied with  the  idea  of  the  young  girl.  That  terror  of 
the  sea  in  the  little  unknown  touched,  as  his  sister 
well  knew  it  would,  something  strangely  deep-rooted  in 
his  nature.  His  ancestors  had  lived  so  long  in  this 
place  that  there  had  come  to  exist  between  the  man's 
inmost  being  and  the  voracious  tides  which  year  by  year 
devoured  the  land  he  owned,  an  obstinate  reciprocity 
of  mood  and  feeling.  That  a  young  and  fragile  in- 
truder should  have  this  morbid  fear  of  the  very  element 
which  half-consciously  he  assimilated  to  himself,  gave 
him  a  subtle  and  sullen  exultation.     The  thing  promised 

to  become  a  sort  of  perverted  link  between  them,  and 

73 


74  RODMOOR 


lie  pleased  himself  by  fancying,  even  while,  in  fear  of 
disillusionment,  he  kept  putting  off  their  encounter, 
that  the  girl  herself  could  not  be  quite  free  of  some  sort 
of  premonition  of  what  awaited  her. 

Thus  it  happened  that  Philippa  Renshaw's  stroke  in 
her  own  defence  worked  precisely  as  she  had  anticipated. 
Brooding,  in  his  slow  tenacious  way,  as  the  weeks  went 
by,  upon  this  singular  projection  of  his  imagination, 
he  let  his  sister  do  what  she  chose,  feeling  assured  that 
in  her  pride  of  race,  she  would  not  seriously  commit 
herself  with  a  nameless  foreigner,  and  promising  him- 
self to  end  the  business  with  a  drastic  hand  as  soon  as 
it  suited  him  to  do  so. 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  May  when  an  event  took 
place  which  gave  the  affair  a  decisive  and  fatal  im- 
pulse. This  was  a  chance  encounter,  upon  the  bridge 
crossing  the  Loon,  between  Brand  and  Rachel  Doorm. 
He  would  have  passed  her  even  then  without  recogni- 
tion, but  she  stopped  him  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Don't  you  remember  me,  Mr.  Renshaw?  "  she  said. 

He  removed  his  hat,  displaying  his  closely  cropped 
reddish  head  with  its  abnormal  upward  slope,  and  re- 
garded her  smilingly. 

"  You've  changed.  Miss  Rachel,"  he  remarked,  "  but 
your  voice  is  the  same.  They  told  me  you  were  here. 
I  knew  we  should  meet  sooner  or  later." 

"  Put  on  your  hat,  Mr.  Renshaw,"  she  said,  seating 
herself  on  a  little  stone  bench  below  the  parapet  and 
making  room  for  him  at  her  side.  "  I  knew,  too,  that 
we  should  meet.  It's  a  long  time  from  those  days  — ^ 
isn't  it?  —  a  long  time,  and  a  dark  one  for  some  of 
us.  Do  you  remember  when  you  were  a  child,  how 
you  asked  me  once  why  they  called  this  place  the  New 


BRIDGE-HEAD  75 

Bridge,  when  it's  obviously  so  very  old?  Do  you.  re- 
member that,  jMr.  Kenshaw?" 

He  looked  at  her  curiously,  screwing  up  his  eyes  and 
wrinkling  his  forehead.  "  ]\ly  mother  told  me  you'd 
come  back,"  he  muttered.  "  She  was  always  fond  of 
you.     She  used  to  hope  —  well,  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"That  I'd  marry  Captain  Herrick.'*  "  Miss  Doorm 
threw  in.  "  Don't  be  afraid  to  say  it.  The  dead  can't 
hear  us  and  except  the  dead,  there's  none  who  cares. 
Yes,  she  hoped  that,  and  schemed  for  it,  too,  dear  soul. 
But  it  was  not  to  be.  Air.  Renshaw.  Ellie  Story  was 
prettier.  Ellie  Story  was  cleverer.  And  so  it  hap- 
pened. The  bitter  thing  was  that  he  swore  an  oath 
to  Mary  before  she  died,  swore  it  on  the  head  of  my 
darling  Nance,  that  if  he  did  ever  marry  again,  I  should 
be  the  one.  Mary  died  thinking  that  certain.  Any- 
thing else  would  have  hurt  her  to  the  heart.  I  know 
that  well  enough ;  for  she  and  I,  Mr.  Renshaw,  as  your 
mother  could  tell  you,  were  more  than  sisters." 

"  I  thought  you  and  Linda's  mother  were  friends, 
too,"  observed  Brand,  looking  with  a  certain  dreamy 
absorption  up  the  straight  white  road  that  led  to  the 
Doorm  house.  The  mental  fantasies  the  man  had 
woven  round  the  name  he  now  uttered  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  had  so  vivid  a  meaning  for  him  that  he  let 
pass  unnoticed  the  spasm  of  vindictiveness  that  con- 
vulsed his  companion's  face. 

Rachel  Doorm  folded  her  arms  across  her  lean  bosom 
and  flung  back  her  head. 

"  Ellie  was  afraid  of  me,  Mr.  Renshaw,"  she  pro- 
nounced huskily,  and  then,  looking  at  him  sharply : 
"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  Mrs.  Herrick  and  I  were  excellent 
friends,  and  so  are  Linda  and  I.     She's  a  soft,  nervous, 


76  RODMOOR 


impressionable  little  thing  —  our  dear  Linda  —  and 
\ery  pretty,  too,  in  her  own  way  —  don't  you  think  so, 
Mr.  Renshaw?  " 

It  was  the  man's  turn  now  to  suffer  a  change  of 
countenance.  "Pretty?"  he  laughed.  "I'm  sure  I 
don't  know.     I've  never  seen  her !  " 

Rachel  clasped  her  hands  tightly  on  the  lap  of  her 
black  dress  and  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him.  "  You'd  like 
to  see  her,  wouldn't  you.''  "  she  murmured  eagerly.  He 
answered  her  look,  and  a  long,  indescribable  passage  of 
unspoken  thoughts  flickered,  wavered  and  took  shape 
between  them. 

"  I've  seen  Nance  —  in  the  distance  —  with  my 
mother,"  he  remarked,  letting  his  glance  wander  to  the 
opposite  parapet  and  away  beyond  it  where  the  swal- 
lows were  skimming,  "  but  I've  never  yet  spoken  to 
either  of  the  girls.  1  keep  to  myself  a  good  deal,  as 
every  one  about  here  knows,  Miss  Rachel." 

Rachel  Doorm  rose  abruptly  to  her  feet  with  such  un- 
expected suddenness  that  the  man  started  as  if  from  a 
blow. 

"  Your  sister,"  she  jerked  out  with  concentrated  ve- 
hemence, "  is  doing  my  Nance  a  deadly  injury.  She's 
given  her  heart  —  sweet  darling  —  absolutely  and  with- 
out stint  to  that  foreigner  down  there."  She  waved 
her  hand  towards  the  village.  "  And  if  Miss  Renshaw 
doesn't  let  him  go,  there'll  be  a  tragedy." 

Brand  looked  at  her  searchingly,  his  lips  trembling 
with  a  smile  of  complicated  significance. 

"  Do  make  her  let  him  go !  "  the  woman  repeated,  ad- 
vancing as  if  she  were  ready  to  clasp  his  hand ;  "  you 
can  if  you  like.  You  always  could.  If  she  takes  him 
away,  my  darling's  heart  will  be  broken.     Mr.  Ren- 


BRIDGE-TIExVD  77 

shaw  —  please  —  for  the  sake  of  old  days,  for  the  sake 
of  old  friends,  do  this  for  me,  and  make  her  give  him 
up!" 

He  drew  back  a  little,  the  same  subtle  and  ambigu- 
ous smile  on  his  lips.  "  No  promises,  Miss  Rachel,"  he 
said,  "  no  promises !  I  never  promise  an}'  one  anything. 
But  we  shall  see;  we  shall  see.  There's  plenty  of  time. 
I'm  keeping  my  eye  on  Philippa ;  you  may  be  sure  of 
that." 

He  held  out  his  hand  as  he  spoke  to  the  agitated 
woman.  She  took  it  in  both  of  her  own  and  quick  as  a 
flash  raised  it  to  her  lips. 

"  I  knew  I  should  meet  you,  Mr.  Rcnshaw,"  she  said, 
turning  away  from  him,  "  and  you  see  it  has  happened ! 
I  won't  ask  why  you  didn't  come  to  me  before.  I  haven't 
asked  that  yet  —  have  I?  —  and  I  won't  ever  ask  it. 
We've  met  at  last;  that's  the  great  thing.  That's  the 
only  thing.     Now  we'll  see  what'll  come  of  it  all." 

They  separated,  and  Brand  proceeded  to  cross  the 
Bridge.  He  had  hardly  done  so  when  he  heard  her 
voice  calling  upon  him  to  stop.     He  turned  impatiently. 

"  When  you  were  a  little  boy,  Mr.  Renshaw," —  her 
words  came  in  panting  gasps  — "  you  said  once,  down  by 
the  sea,  that  Rachel  was  the  only  person  in  the  world 
who  really  loved  you.  Your  mother  heard  you  say  it 
and  looked  —  you  know  how  she  looks !  You  used  al- 
ways to  call  me  '  Cousin  '  then.  Far  back,  they  say,  the 
Rcnshaws  and  the  Doorms  zcere  cousins.  But  you 
didn't  know  that.  It  was  just  your  childish  fancy. 
'Cousin  Rachel,'  you  said  once  —  just  like  that  — 
'  come  and  take  me  away  from  them.'  " 

Brand  acquiesced  in  all  this  with  an  air  of  strained 
politeness.     But  his  face  changed  when  he  heard  her 


'8  RODMOOR 


final  words.      "  Listen,"  she  said,  '"  I've  talked  to  Linda 
about  you.      She's  got  the  idea  of  you  in  her  mind." 

At  the  very  moment  when  this  encounter  at  the  New 
Bridge  ended  —  which  was  about  six  in  the  afternoon  — 
Nance  Herrick  was  walking  with  a  beating  heart  to  a 
promised  assignation  with  Sorio.  This  was  to  take 
place  at  the  southern  corner  of  a  little  withy-bed  sit- 
uated about  half  a  mile  from  Dyke  House  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Mundham.  It  was  Nance's  own  wish  that  her 
lover  —  if  he  could  still  be  called  so  —  should  meet  her 
here  rather  than  in  the  house.  She  had  discovered  the 
spot  herself  and  had  grown  fond  of  it.  Sheltered  from 
the  wind  by  the  clump  of  low-growing  willows,  and  cut 
off  by  the  line  of  the  banked-up  tow-path  from  the 
melancholy  horizon  of  fens,  the  girl  had  got  into  the 
habit  of  taking  refuge  here  as  if  from  the  pursuit  of 
vague  inimical  presences.  In  the  immediate  neighbour- 
hood of  the  withy-bed  were  several  corn  fields,  the  be- 
ginning of  a  long  strip  of  arable  land  which  divided 
the  river  from  the  marshes  as  far  as  Mundham. 

The  particular  spot  where  she  hoped  to  find  Sorio 
awaiting  her  was  a  low  grassy  bank  overshadowed  by 
alders  as  well  as  willows,  and  bordered  by  a  field  of 
well-grown  barley,  a  field  which,  though  still  green, 
showed  already  to  an  experienced  eye  the  kind  of  grain 
which  a  month  or  so  of  not  too  malicious  weather  would 
ripen  and  turn  to  gold.  Already  amid  the  blades  of  the 
young  corn  could  be  seen  the  stalks  and  leaves  of  newly 
grown  poppies,  and  mingled  with  these,  also  at  their 
early  stage  of  growth,  small,  indistinguishable  plants 
that  would  later  show  themselves  as  corn-flowers  and 
succory. 

The    neighbourhood    of    this    barley    field,    with    its 


BRIDGE-TTEAD  79 

friendly  look  and  honioly  weeds,  i)romising  a  revel  of 
reassuring  colour  as  the  summer  advanced,  had  come  to 
be,  to  the  agitated  and  troubled  girl,  a  sort  of  symbol 
of  hope.  It  was  the  one  place  in  Rodmoor  —  for  the 
Doorm  garden  shared  the  gloomy  influences  of  the 
Doorm  house  —  where  she  could  feel  something  like  her 
old  enjoyment  in  the  natural  growths  of  the  soil.  Here, 
in  the  freshly  sprouting  corn  and  the  friendly  weeds 
that  it  protected,  was  the  strong,  unconquerable  pres- 
sure of  earth-life,  refusing  to  be  repressed,  refusing  to 
be  thwarted,  by  the  malign  powers  of  wind  and  water. 

Here,  on  the  bank  she  had  chosen  as  her  retreat,  little 
childish  plants  she  knew  by  name  —  such  as  pimpernel 
and  milkwort  —  were  already  in  flower  and  from  the 
alders  and  willows  above  her  head  sweet  and  consola- 
tory odours,  free  from  the  tang  of  marsh  mist  or  brack- 
ish stream,  brought  memories  of  old  country  excursions 
into  places  far  removed  from  fen  or  sea. 

She  had  never  yet  revealed  this  sanctuary  of  hers  to 
Sorio  and  it  was  with  throbbing  pulses  and  quickened 
step  that  she  approached  it  now,  longing  to  associate 
its  security  with  her  master-feeling,  and  yet  fearful  lest, 
by  finding  her  lover  unkind  or  estranged,  the  place 
should  lose  its  magic  forever.  She  had  dressed  herself 
with  care  that  afternoon,  putting  on  —  though  the 
weather  was  hardly  warm  enough  to  make  such  airy  at- 
tire quite  suitable  —  a  white  print  frock,  covered  with 
tiny  roses.  Several  times  in  front  of  the  mirror  she 
had  smoothed  down  her  dress  and  unloosened  and  tied 
back  again  her  shining  masses  of  hair.  She  held  her 
hat  in  her  hand  now,  as  she  approached  the  spot,  for 
he  had  told  her  once  in  London  that  he  liked  her  better 
when  she  was  bareheaded. 


80  RODMOOR 


She  had  left  her  parasol  behind,  too,  and  as  she  has- 
tened along  the  narrow  path  from  the  river  to  the 
withy-bed,  she  nervously  switched  the  green  stalks  by 
her  side  with  a  dead  stick  she  had  unconsciously 
picked  up. 

Her  print  dress  hung  straight  and  tight  over  her 
softly  moulded  figure  and  her  limbs,  as  she  walked, 
swayed  with  a  free  and  girlish  grace. 

Passionately,  intently,  she  scanned  the  familiar  out- 
lines of  the  spot,  hoping  and  yet  fearing  to  see  him. 
Not  yet  —  not  yet !  Nothing  visible  yet,  but  the  low- 
l^ang  little  copse  and  the  stretch  of  arable  land  around 
it.  She  drew  near.  She  was  already  within  a  few 
paces  of  the  place.  Nothing!  He  was  not  there  — 
he  had  failed  her! 

She  drew  a  deep  breath  and  stood  motionless,  the 
dead  stick  fallen  from  her  hand  and  her  gloveless  fingers 
clasping  and  unclasping  one  another  mechanically. 

"  Oh,  Adrian !  Adrian  !  "  she  moaned.  "  You  don't 
care  any  more  —  not  any  more." 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  swish  of  leafy  branches  and  a 
crackle  of  broken  twigs.      He  was  there,  after  all. 

"Adrian!"  she  cried.     "Is  that  you,  Adrian?" 

There  was  more  rustling  and  swishing,  and  then  with 
a  discordant  laugh  he  burst  out  from  the  under- 
growth. 

"  You  frightened  me,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  with 
quivering  lips.  "  Why  did  you  hide  away  like  that, 
Adrian.?" 

He  went  straight  up  to  her,  seized  her  fiercely  in  his 
arms  and  covered  her  mouth,  her  throat  and  neck  with 
hot,  furious  kisses.  This  was  not  what  Nance's  heart 
craved.     She  longed  to  sob  out  her  suppressed  feelings 


BRIDGE-HEAD 81 

on  his  shoulder.  She  longed  to  be  petted  and  caressed, 
gently,  quietly,  and  with  soft  endearing  words. 

Instead  of  which,  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  was  seek- 
ing, as  he  embraced  her  body  and  clung  to  her  flesh 
with  his  lips,  to  escape  from  his  own  thoughts,  to  sup- 
press her  thoughts,  to  sweep  them  both  away  —  away 
from  all  rational  consciousness  —  on  the  brutal  im- 
pulse of  mere  animal  passion. 

Her  tears  which  were  on  the  point  of  flowing,  in  a  tide 
of  heart-easing  abandonment,  were  driven  inwards  by 
his  violence,  and  in  her  grey  eyes,  if  he  had  cared  to 
look,  he  would  have  seen  a  frightened  appeal  —  pitiful 
and  troubled  —  like  the  wild  glance  of  a  deer  harried 
by  dogs. 

His  violence  brought  its  own  reaction  at  last  and, 
letting  her  go,  he  flung  himself  panting  upon  the  ground. 
She  stood  above  him  for  a  while,  flushed  and  silent, 
smoothing  down  her  hair  with  her  hands  and  looking 
into  his  face  with  a  puzzled  frown. 

"  Sit  down,"  he  gasped.  "  Why  do  you  stare  at  me 
like  that?" 

Obediently  she  placed  herself  by  his  side,  tucked  her 
skirt  around  her  ankles  and  let  her  hands  fall  on  her  lap. 

"  Adrian,"  she  said,  glancing  shyly  at  him.  "  Why 
did  you  kiss  me  like  that,  just  now.?  " 

He  propped  himself  up  and  gazed  gloomily  across 
the  barley  field.  "  Why  —  did  —  I  —  kiss  you.?"  he 
muttered,  as  if  speaking  in  a  dream. 

"Yes  —  why,  like  that,  just  then,"  she  went  on. 
"  It  wasn't  like  you  and  me  at  all.  You  were  rough, 
Adrian.  You  weren't  yourself.  Oh,  my  dear,  my 
dear !  I  don't  believe  you  care  for  me  half  as  you  used 
to!" 


82  RODMOOR 


He  beat  his  fists  irritably  on  the  ground  and  an  al- 
most vindictive  look  came  into  his  ejes. 

"  That's  the  way !  "  he  flung  out,  "  that's  the  way  I 
knew  you'd  take  it.  You  girls  want  to  be  loved  but 
you  nmst  be  loved  just  thus  and  so.  A  touch  too  near, 
a  word  too  far  —  and  you're  all  up  in  arms." 

Nance  felt  as  though  an  ice-cold  wedge  had  been 
thrust  between  her  breasts. 

"  Adrian,"  she  cried,  "  how  can  you  treat  me  in  this 
way?  How  can  you  say  these  things  to  me?  Have  I 
ever  stopped  you  kissing  me?  Have  I  ever  been  un- 
responsive to  you?  '* 

He  looked  away  from  her  and  began  pulling  up  a 
patch  of  moss  by  its  roots.  "  What  are  you  annoyed 
about,  then?  "  he  muttered. 

She  sighed  bitterly.  Then  with  a  strong  effort  to 
give  her  voice  a  natural  tone.  "  I  didn't  feel  as  though 
you  were  kissing  me  at  all  just  now.  I  was  simply  a 
girl  in  your  arms  —  any  girl !  It  was  a  shame,  Adrian. 
It  hurt  me.  Surely,  dear," —  her  voice  grew  gentle 
and  pleading  — "  you  must  know  what  I  mean." 

"  I  don't  know  in  the  least  what  you  mean,"  he  cried. 
"  It's  some  silly,  absurd  scruple  some  one's  been  put- 
ting in  your  head.  I  can't  always  make  love  to  you  as 
if  we  were  two  children,  can  I  —  two  babes  in  the 
wood?  " 

Nance's  mouth  quivered  at  this  and  she  stretched  out 
her  arm  towards  him  and  then,  letting  it  drop,  fumbled 
with  her  fingers  at  a  blade  of  grass.  A  curious  line, 
rarely  visible  on  her  face,  wrinkled  her  forehead  and 
twitched  a  little  as  if  it  had  been  a  nerve  beneath  the 
skin.  This  line  had  a  pathos  in  it  beyond  a  mere  frown. 
It  would  have  been  well  if  the  Italian  had   recalled. 


BRIDGE-HEAD  83 

as  he  saw  it,  certain  ancient  tragic  masks  of  his  native 
country,  but  it  is  one  of  life's  persistent  ironies  that 
the  tokens  of  monumental  sorrow,  which  serve  so  nobly 
the  purposes  of  art,  should  only  excite  peevish  irrita- 
tion when  seen  near  at  hand.  Sorio  did  not  miss  that 
line  of  suffering  but  instead  of  softening  him  it  in- 
creased his  bitterness. 

"  You're  really  not  angry  about  my  kissing  you,"  he 
said.  "  That's  what  all  you  women  do  —  you  pitch 
upon  something  quite  different  and  revenge  yourself 
with  it,  when  all  the  time  you're  thinking  about  —  God 
knows  what !  —  some  mad  grievance  of  your  own  that 
has  no  connection  with  what  you  say !  " 

She  leapt  up  at  this,  as  if  bitten  by  an  adder  and 
looked  at  him  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Adrian  !  You've  no  right  —  I've  never  given  you 
the  right  —  to  speak  to  me  so.  Come !  We'd  better  go 
back  to  the  house.  I  wish  —  oh,  how  I  wish  —  I'd  never 
asked  you  to  meet  me  here." 

She  stooped  to  pick  up  her  hat.  "  I  liked  it  so  here," 
she  added  with  a  wistful  catch  in  her  voice,  "  but  it's 
all  spoilt  now."  Sorio  did  not  move.  He  looked  at 
her  gravely. 

"  You're  a  little  fool,  Nance,"  he  said,  "  absolutely 
a  little  fool.  But  you  look  extraordinarily  lovely  at 
this  moment,  now  you  re  in  a  fury.  Come  here,  child, 
come  back  and  sit  down  and  let's  talk  sensibly.  There 
are  other  things  and  much  more  important  things  in 
the  world  than  our  ridiculous  quarrels." 

The  tone  of  his  voice  had  its  effect  upon  her  but  she 
did  not  yield  at  once. 

"  I  think  perhaps  to-day,"  she  niurnuired,  "  it  would 
be  better  to  go  back."     She  continued  to  stand  in  front 


84  RODMOOR 


of  him,  swaying  a  little  —  an  unconscious  trick  of  hers 
—  and  smiling  sadly. 

"  Come  and  sit  down,"  he  repeated  in  a  low  voice. 
She  obeyed  him,  for  it  was  what  her  heart  ached  for, 
and  clinging  tightly  to  him  she  let  her  suppressed  emo- 
tions have  full  vent.  With  her  head  pressed  awkwardly 
against  his  coat  she  sobbed  freely  and  without  restraint. 

Sorio  gently  buttoned  up  the  fastening  of  one  of  her 
long  sleeves  which  had  come  unloosed.  He  did  this 
gravely  and  without  a  change  of  expression.  That  pe- 
culiar and  tragic  pathos  which  emanates  from  a  girl's 
forgetfulness  of  her  personal  appearance  did  not  ap- 
parently cross  his  consciousness.  Nance,  as  she  leant 
against  him,  had  a  pitiable  and  even  a  grotesque  air. 
One  of  her  legs  was  thrust  out  from  beneath  her  skirt. 
Sorio  noticed  that  her  brown  shoes  were  a  little  worn 
and  did  not  consort  well  with  her  white  stockings.  It 
momentarily  crossed  his  mind  that  he  had  fancied 
Nancy's  ankles  to  be  slenderer  than  it  seemed  they  were. 

Her  sobs  died  away  at  last  in  long  shuddering  gasps 
which  shook  her  whole  frame.  Sorio  kept  stroking  her 
head,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  distant  river  bank 
along  which  a  heavily  labouring  horse  was  tugging  at  a 
rope.  Every  now  and  then  his  face  contracted  a  little 
as  if  he  were  in  physical  pain.  This  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  from  the  girl's  weight  pressing  against  his  knee 
he  began  to  suffer  from  cramp.  Though  her  sobs  had 
died  down,  Nance  still  seemed  unwilling  to  stir. 

With  one  of  her  hands  she  made  a  tremulous  move- 
ment in  search  of  his,  and  he  answered  it  by  tightly 
gripping  her  fingers.  While  he  held  her  thus  his  gaze 
wandered  from  the  horse  on  the  tow-path  and  fixed  it- 
self upon  a  large  and  beautifully  spotted  fly  that  was 


BRIDGE-HEAD 85 

moving  slowly  and  tentatively  up  a  green  stalk.  With 
its  long  antenna?  extended  in  front  of  it  the  fly  felt 
its  way,  every  now  and  then  opening  and  shutting  its 
gauzy  wings. 

Sorio  hated  the  horse,  hated  the  fly  and  hated  him- 
self. As  for  the  girl  who  leant  so  heavily  upon  him, 
he  felt  nothing  for  her  just  then  but  a  dull,  inert  pa- 
tience and  a  kind  of  objective  pity  such  as  one  might 
feel  for  a  wounded  animal.  One  deep,  far-drawn  chan- 
nel of  strength  and  hope  remained  open  in  the  remote 
depths  of  his  mind  —  associated  with  his  inmost  identity 
and  with  what  in  the  fortress  of  his  soul  he  loved  to  call 
his  "  secret  " —  and  far  off,  at  the  end  of  this  vista, 
visualized  through  clouds  of  complicated  memories  — 
was  the  image  of  his  boy,  his  boy  left  in  America,  from 
whom,  unknown  even  to  Nance,  he  received  letters  week 
by  week,  letters  that  were  the  only  thing,  so  it  seemed 
to  him  at  this  moment,  which  gave  sweetness  to  his  life. 

He  had  sought,  in  giving  full  scope  to  his  attraction 
to  Nance,  to  cover  up  and  smooth  over  certain  jagged, 
bleeding  edges  in  his  outraged  mind,  and  in  this,  even 
now,  as  he  returned  the  pressure  of  her  soft  fingers,  he 
recognized  that  he  had  been  successful. 

It  was,  he  knew  well,  only  the  appearance  of  this 
other  one  —  this  insidious  "  rose  au  regard  saphique  " 
—  this  furtive  child  of  marsh  and  sea  —  who  had  spoilt 
his  delight  in  Nance  —  Nance  had  not  changed,  nor  in- 
deed had  he,  himself.  It  was  only  the  discovery  of 
Philippa,  the  revelation  of  Philippa,  which  had  altered 
everything. 

With  his  fingers  entangled  in  the  shining  hair,  be- 
neath his  hand,  he  found  himself  cursing  the  day  he  had 
ever  come  to  Rodmoor.     And  yet  —  as  far  as  his  "  se- 


86  RODMOOR 


cret  '*  went  —  that  "  fleur  hypocrite  "  of  the  salt- 
marshes  came  nearer,  nearer  than  mortal  soul  except 
Baptiste  —  to  understanding  the  heart  of  his  mystery. 
The  sun  sinking  behind  them,  had  for  some  while  now 
thrown  long  dark  shadows  across  the  field  at  their  feet. 

Tlie  flies  which  hovered  over  the  girl's  prostrate  form 
were  no  longer  radiantly  illuminated  and  from  the  vague 
distances  in  every  direction  came  those  fitful  sounds  of 
the  closing  day  —  murmurs  and  whispers  and  subtle 
breathings,  sweet  and  yet  profoundly  sad,  which  indi- 
cate the  ebb  of  the  life-impulse  and  approach  of  twi- 
light. 

The  girl  moved  at  last,  and  lifting  up  a  tear-stained 
face,  looked  timidly  and  shyly  into  his  eyes.  She  ap- 
peared at  that  moment  so  submissive,  so  pitiful,  and  so 
entirely  dependent  on  him  that  Sorio  would  have  been 
hardly  human  if  he  had  not  thrown  his  arms  reassur- 
ingly round  her  neck  and  kissed  her  wet  flushed  cheek. 

They  rose  together  from  the  ground  and  both  laughed 
merrily  to  see  how  stained  and  crumpled  her  newly 
starched  frock  had  become. 

"  I'll  meet  you  here  again  —  to-morrow  if  you  like," 
he  said  gently.  She  smiled  but  did  not  answer.  Sim- 
ple-hearted though  she  was,  she  was  enough  of  a  woman 
to  know  well  that  her  victory,  if  it  could  be  called  vic- 
tory, over  his  morose  mood  was  a  mere  temporary  mat- 
ter. The  future  of  their  love  seemed  to  her  more  than 
ever  dubious  and  uncertain,  and  it  was  with  a  chilled 
heart,  in  spite  of  her  gallant  attempts  to  make  their 
return  pleasant  to  them  both,  that  she  re-entered  the 
forlorn  garden  of  Dyke  House  and  waved  good-bye  to 
him  from  the  door. 


VII 

VESPERS 

NANCE  continued  to  resort  to  her  withy-bed, 
in  spite  of  the  spoiling  of  its  charm,  but  she 
did  not  again  ask  Sorio  to  meet  her  there. 
She  met  him  still,  however, —  sometimes  in  Rachel's 
desolate  garden  which  seemed  inspired  by  some  occult 
influence  antipathetic  to  every  softening  touch,  and 
sometimes  —  and  these  latter  encounters  were  the  hap- 
pier ones  —  in  the  little  graveyard  of  Mr.  Traherne's 
church.  She  found  him  affectionate  enough  in  these 
ambiguous  days  and  even  tender,  but  she  was  con- 
stantly aware  of  a  barrier  between  them  which  nothing 
she  could  say  or  do  seemed  able  to  surmount. 

Her  anxiety  with  regard  to  the  relations  between 
Rachel  and  Linda  did  not  grow  less  as  days  went  on. 
Sometimes  the  two  seemed  perfectly  happy  and  Nance 
accused  herself  of  having  a  morbid  imagination,  but 
then  again  something  would  occur  —  some  quite  slight 
and  unimportant  thing  —  which  threw  her  back  upon 
all  her  old  misgivings. 

Once  she  was  certain  she  heard  Linda  crying  in  the 
night  and  uttering  Rachel's  name  but  the  young  girl, 
when  roused  from  her  sleep,  only  laughed  gaily  and 
vowed  she  had  no  recollection  of  anything  she  had 
dreamed. 

As  things  thus  went  on  and  there  seemed  no  outlet 

from  the  difficulties  that  surrounded  her,  Nance  began 

making  serious  enquiries  as  to  the  possibility  of  finding 

87 


88  RODMOOR 


work  in  the  neighbourhood.  She  read  the  advertise- 
ments in  the  local  papers  and  even  answered  some  of 
them  but  the  weeks  slipped  bj  and  nothing  tangible 
seemed  to  emerge. 

Her  greatest  consolation  at  this  time  was  a  friend- 
ship she  struck  up  with  Hamish  Traherne,  the  curate- 
in-charge  of  Rodmoor  upon  whose  organ  in  the  forlorn 
little  Norman  church,  Linda  was  now  daily  practising. 

Dr.  Raughty,  too,  when  she  chanced  to  meet  him, 
proved  a  soothing  distraction.  The  man's  evident  ad- 
miration for  her  gratified  her  vanity,  while  her  tender 
and  playful  way  of  expressing  it  put  a  healing  ointment 
upon  her  wounded  pride. 

One  late  afternoon  when  the  sun  at  last  seemed  to 
have  got  some  degree  of  hold  upon  that  sea-blighted 
country,  she  found  herself  seated  with  Mr.  Traherne 
on  a  bench  adjoining  the  churchyard,  waiting  there 
in  part  for  the  service  —  for  Hamish  was  a  rigorous 
ritualist  in  these  things  and  rang  his  bell  twice  a  day 
with  devoted  patience  —  and  in  part  for  the  purpose 
of  meeting  Mrs.  Renshaw,  who,  as  she  knew,  came  regu- 
larly to  church,  morning  and  evening. 

Linda  was  playing  inside  the  little  stone  edifice  and 
the  sound  of  her  music  came  out  to  them  as  they  talked, 
pleasantly  softened  by  the  intervening  walls.  Mr. 
Traherne's  own  dwelling,  a  battered,  time-worn  frag- 
ment of  monastic  masonry,  clumsily  adapted  to  modern 
use,  lay  behind  them,  its  unpretentious  garden  passing 
by  such  imperceptible  degrees  into  the  sacred  enclosure 
that  the  blossoms  raised,  in  defiance  of  the  winds  that 
swept  the  marshes,  in  the  priest's  flower-beds,  shed  their 
petals  upon  the  more  recently  dug  of  his  parishioners' 
graves. 


VESPERS  89 


It  may  have  been  the  extreme  ugliness  of  llodmoor's 
curate-in-charge  that  drew  Nance  so  closely  to  him. 
Mr.  Traherne  was  certainly  in  bodily  appearance  the 
least  prepossessing  person  she  had  ever  beheld.  He  re- 
sembled nothing  so  much  as  an  over-driven  and  exces- 
sively patient  horse,  his  long,  receding  chin,  knobbed 
bulbous  nose,  and  corrugated  forehead  not  even  being 
relieved  by  any  particular  quality  in  his  small,  deeply- 
set  colourless  c^'es  —  eyes  which  lacked  everything  such 
as  commonly  redeems  an  otherwise  insignificant  face 
and  which  stared  out  of  his  head  upon  the  world  with  a 
fixed  expression  of  mild  and  dumb  protest. 

Whether  it  was  his  ugliness,  or  something  indefinable 
in  him  that  found  no  physical  or  even  vocal  expression 
—  for  his  voice  was  harsh  and  husky  —  the  girl  herself 
would  have  been  puzzled  to  say,  but  whatever  it  was,  it 
drew  her  and  held  her  and  she  experienced  curious  relief 
in  talking  with  him. 

This  particular  afternoon  she  had  permitted  herself 
to  go  further  than  usual  in  these  relieving  confidences 
and  had  treated  the  poor  man  as  if  he  were  actually 
and  in  very  truth  her  father-confessor. 

"  I've  had  no  luck  so  far,"  she  said,  speaking  of  her 
attempts  to  get  work,  "  but  I  think  I  shall  have  before 
long.  I'm  right,  am  I  not,  in  f^af  at  any  rate?  What- 
ever happens,  it's  better  Linda  and  I  should  be  inde- 
pendent." 

The  priest  nodded  vigorously  and  clasped  his  bony 
hands  over  his  knees. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  that  I  knew  Mr.  Sorio  as  I  know 
you.  When  I  know  people  I  like  them,  and  as  a  rule  — " 
he  opened  his  large  twisted  mouth  and  smiled  humor- 
ously at  her  — "  as  a  rule  they  like  me." 


90  RODMOOR 


*•  oh,  don't  misunderstand  what  I  said  just  now," 
cried  Nance  anxiously.  "  I  didn't  mean  that  Adrian 
doesn't  like  you.  I  know  he  likes  you  very  much.  It's 
that  he's  afraid  of  your  influence,  of  your  religion,  of 
your  goodness.  He's  afraid  of  you.  That's  what  it 
is." 

"  Of  course  we  know,"  said  Hamish  Trahernc,  prod- 
ding the  ground  with  his  oak  stick  and  tucking  his  long 
cassock  round  his  legs,  "  of  course  we  know  that  it's 
really  Mr.  Sorio  who  ought  to  find  work.  He  ought 
to  find  it  soon,  too,  and  as  soon  as  he's  got  it  he  ought 
to  marry  you !  That's  how  I  would  see  this  affair  set- 
tled."    He  smiled  at  her  with  humorous  benignity. 

Nance  frowned  a  little.  "  I  don't  like  it  when  you 
talk  like  that,"  she  remarked,  "  it  makes  me  feel  as 
though  I'd  done  wrong  in  saying  anything  about  it. 
It  makes  me  feel  as  though  I  had  been  disloyal  to  Ad- 
nan. 

For  so  ugly  and  clumsy  a  man,  there  was  a  pathetic 
gentleness  in  the  way  he  laid  his  hand,  at  that,  upon  his 
companion's  arm.  "  The  disloyalty,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  would  have  been  not  to  have  spoken  to  me. 
Who  else  can  help  our  friend?  Who  else  is  anxious  to 
help  him.''  " 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  cried,  "  you're  as  sweet  to  me 
as  you  can  be.  You're  my  most  faithful  friend.  It's 
only  that  I  feel  —  sometimes  —  as  though  Adrian 
wouldn't  like  it  for  me  to  talk  about  him  at  all  —  to 
any  one.  But  that's  silly,  isn't  it?  And  besides  I 
must,  mustn't  I?  Otherwise  there'd  be  no  way  of  help- 
ing him." 

"  I'll  find  a  way,"  muttered  the  priest.  "  You  needn't 
mention  his  name  again.     We'll  take  him  for  granted  in 


VESPERS  91 


future,  little  one,  and  we'll  both  work  together  in  his 
interests." 

"  If  he  could  only  be  made  to  understand,"  the  girl 
went  on,  looking  helplessly  across  the  vast  tract  of  fens, 
"  what  his  real  feelings  are !  I  believe  he  loves  me  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart.  I  know  I  can  help  him  as  no 
one  else  can.     But  how  to  make  him  understand  that?  " 

They  were  interrupted  at  this  point  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Mrs.  Rcnshaw  who,  standing  in  the  path  leading 
to  the  church  door,  looked  at  them  hesitatingly  as  if 
wondering  whether  she  ought  to  approach  them  or  not. 

They  rose  at  once  and  crossed  the  grass  to  meet  her. 
At  the  same  time  Linda,  emerging  from  the  building, 
greeted  them  with  excited  ardour. 

"  I've  done  so  well  to-day,  Mr.  Traherne,"  she  cried, 
"  you'd  be  astonished.  I  can  manage  those  pedals  per- 
fectly now,  and  the  stops  too.  Oh,  it's  lovely !  It's 
lovely !     I  feel  I'm  going  really  to  be  a  player." 

They  all  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Renshaw,  and  then, 
while  the  priest  went  in  to  ring  his  bell,  the  three  women 
strolled  together  to  the  low  stone  parapet  built  as  a  pro- 
tection against  floods,  which  separated  the  churchyard 
from  the  marshes. 

Tiny,  delicate  mosses  grew  on  this  wall,  interspersed 
with  small  pale-flowered  weeds.  On  its  further  side  was 
a  wide  tract  of  boggy  ground,  full  of  deep  amber-col- 
oured pools  and  clumps  of  rushes  and  terminated,  some 
half  mile  away,  by  a  raised  d^'ke.  There  was  a  pleas- 
ant humming  of  insects  in  the  air,  and  although  a  pro- 
cession of  large  white  clouds  kept  crossing  the  low, 
horizontal  sun,  and  throwing  their  cold  shadows  over 
the  landscape,  the  general  aspect  of  the  place  was 
more  friendly  and  less  desolate  than  usual. 


92  RODMOOR 


They  sat  down  upon  the  parapet  and  began  to  talk. 
"  Brand  promised  to  come  and  fetch  me  to-night,"  said 
Mrs.  Renshaw.  "  I  begged  him  to  come  in  time  for  the 
service  but  — "  and  she  gave  a  sad,  expressive  little 
laugh,  "  he  said  he  wouldn't  be  early  enough  for  that. 
Why  is  it,  do  you  think,  that  men  in  these  days  are  so 
unwilling  to  do  these  things.''  It  isn't  that  they're 
wiser  than  their  ancestors.  It  isn't  that  they're 
cleverer.  It  isn't  that  they  have  less  need  of  the  In- 
visible. Something  has  come  over  the  world,  I  think  — 
something  that  blots  out  the  sky.  I've  thought  that 
often  lately,  particularly  when  I  wake  up  in  the  morn- 
ings. It  seems  to  me  that  the  dawns  used  to  be  fresher 
and  clearer  than  they  are  now.  God  has  got  tired  of 
helping  us,  my  dears,"  and  she  sighed  wearily. 

Linda  extended  her  warm  little  hand  with  a  caressing 
movement,  and  Nance  said,  gently,  "  I  know  well  what 
you  mean,  but  I  feel  sure  —  oh,  I  feel  quite  sure  —  it's 
only  for  a  time.  And  I  think,  too,  in  some  odd  way, 
that  it's  our  own  fault  —  I  mean  the  fault  of  women. 
I  can't  express  clearly  what's  in  my  mind  but  I  feel  as 
though  we'd  all  changed  —  changed,  that  is,  from  what 
we  used  to  be  in  old  days.  Don't  you  think  there's 
something  in  that,  Mrs.  Renshaw.'*  But  of  course  that 
only  applies  to  Linda  and  me." 

The  elder  woman's  countenance  assumed  a  pinched 
and  withered  look  as  the  girl  spoke,  the  lines  in  it  deep- 
ening and  the  pallor  of  it  growing  so  noticeable  that 
Nance  found  herself  recalling  the  ghastly  whiteness  of 
her  father's  face  as  she  saw  him  at  the  last,  laid  out  in 
his  coffin.  She  shivered  a  little  and  let  her  fingers  stray 
over  the  crumbling  masonry  and  tangled  weeds  at  her 
side,  seeking  there,  in  a  fumbling,  instinctive  manner, 


VESPERS  93 


to  get  into  touch  with  something  natural,  earthy,  and 
reassuring. 

The  procession  of  clouds  suffered  a  brief  interlude  at 
that  moment  in  their  steady  transit  and  the  sinking  sun 
shone  out  warm  and  mellow,  full  of  odours  of  peat  and 
moss  and  reedy  nmd.  Swarms  of  tiny  midges  danced 
in  the  long  level  liglit  and  several  drowsy  butterflies 
rose  out  of  nowhere  and  fluttered  over  the  mounds. 

"Oh,  there's  Brand  coming!"  cried  Mrs.  Renshaw, 
suddenly,  with  a  queer  contraction  of  her  pale  fore- 
head, "  and  the  bell  has  stopped.  How  strange  we 
none  of  us  noticed  that !  Listen  !  Yes  —  he's  begun 
the  service.  Can't  you  hear?  Oh,  what  a  pity!  I 
can't  bear  going  in  after  he's  begun." 

Brand  Renshaw,  striding  unceremoniously  over  the 
graves,  approached  the  group.  They  rose  to  greet 
him.  Nance  felt  herself  surveyed  from  head  to  foot, 
weighed  in  the  balances  and  found  wanting.  Linda 
hung  back  a  little,  shamefaced  and  blushing  deeply.  It 
was  upon  her  that  Brand  kept  his  eyes  fixed  all  the  while 
he  was  being  introduced.  She  —  as  Nance  recognized 
in  a  flash  —  was  not  found  wanting. 

They  stood  talking  together,  easily  and  freely  enough, 
for  several  minutes,  but  nothing  that  Nance  heard  or 
said  prevented  her  mind  from  envisaging  the  fact  that 
there  had  leapt  into  being,  magnetically,  mysteriously, 
irresistibly,  one  of  those  sudden  attractions  between 
a  man  and  a  girl  that  so  often  imply  —  as  the  world  is 
now  arranged  —  the  emergence  of  tragedy  upon  the 
horizon. 

"  I  think  —  if  you  don't  mind,  Brand,"  said  Mrs. 
Renshaw  when  a  pause  arrived  in  their  conversation, 
"  we'll  slip  into  the  church  now  for  a  minute  or  two. 


04  '^        RODMOOR 


He's  got  to  the  Psalms.  I  can  hear.  And  it  hurts  me, 
somehow,  for  the  poor  man  to  have  to  go  through  them 
alone." 

Nance  moved  at  once,  but  Linda  pouted  and  looked 
sh^'ly  at  Brand.  "  I'm  tired  of  the  church,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  I'll  wait  for  you  out  here.  Are  you  going  in 
with  them,  Mr.  Renshaw?  " 

Brand  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  walked  gravely 
with  the  two  others  as  far  as  the  porch. 

"  Don't  be  surprised  if  your  sister's  spirited  away 
when  you  come  out.  Miss  Herrick,"  he  said  smilingly  as 
he  left  them  at  the  door. 

Returning  with  a  quick  step  to  where  Linda  stood 
gazing  across  the  marshes,  he  made  some  casual  remark 
about  the  quietness  of  the  evening  and  led  her  forth 
from  the  churchyard.  Neither  of  them  uttered  any 
definite  reference  to  what  they  were  doing.  Indeed,  a 
queer  sort  of  nervous  dumbness  seemed  to  have  seized 
them  both,  but  there  was  a  suppressed  surge  of  excite- 
ment in  the  man's  resolute  movements  and  under  the 
navy  blue  coat  and  skirt  which  hung  so  delicately  and 
closely  round  her  slender  figure.  The  girl's  pulses  beat 
a  wild  excited  tune. 

He  led  her  straight  along  the  narrow,  reed-bordered 
path,  with  a  ditch  on  either  side  of  it  which  ended  in  the 
bridge  across  the  Loon.  Before  they  reached  the 
bridge,  however,  he  swerved  to  the  left  and  helped  her 
over  a  low  wooden  railing.  From  this  point,  by  fol- 
lowing a  rough  track  along  the  edge  of  one  of  the  water 
meadows  it  was  possible  to  reach  the  sand-dunes  with- 
out entering  the  village. 

"  Not  to  the  sea,"  pleaded  Linda,  holding  back  when 
she  perceived  the  direction  of  their  steps. 


VESPERS  95 


"  Yes,  to  tlie  sea !  "  he  cried,  pulling  her  forward  witli 
merciless  determination.  She  made  no  further  resist- 
ance. She  did  not  even  protest  when,  arrived  at  the 
end  of  their  path,  he  lifted  her  bodily  over  the  gate  that 
barred  their  way.  She  let  him  help  her  across  the 
heavily  sinking  sand,  covered  with  pallid,  coarse  grass 
which  yielded  to  every  step  they  took.  She  let  him, 
when  at  last  they  reached  the  summit  of  the  dunes  and 
saw  the  sea  spread  out  before  them,  retain  the  hand  she 
had  given  him  and  lead  her  down,  hardly  holding  back 
at  all  now,  to  the  very  edge  of  the  water. 

They  were  both  at  that  moment  like  persons  under 
the  power  of  some  sort  of  drug.  Their  eyes  were  wild 
and  bright  and  when  they  spoke  their  voices  had  an  un- 
natural solemnity.  In  the  absoluteness  of  the  magnetic 
current  which  swept  them  together,  they  could  do  noth- 
ing, it  seemed,  but  take  all  that  happened  to  them  for 
granted  —  take  all  —  all  —  as  if  it  could  not  be  other- 
wise, as  if  it  were  unthinkable  otherAvise. 

When  they  reached  the  place  where  the  tide  turned 
and  the  tremulous  line  of  spindrift  glimmered  in  the 
dying  sunlight,  the  girl  stopped  at  last.  Her  lips  and 
cheeks  were  pale  as  the  foam  itself.  She  tried  to  tear 
her  fingers  from  his  grasp.  Her  feet,  sinking  in  the  wet 
sand,  were  splashed  by  the  inflowing  water. 

"  They  told  me  you  were  afraid,"  he  muttered,  and 
his  voice  sounded  to  them  both  as  if  it  came  from  far 
away,  "  but  I  didn't  believe  it.  I  thought  it  was  some 
little  girl's  nonsense.  But  I  see  now  they  were  right. 
You  are  afraid." 

He  rose  to  his  full  height,  drawing  into  his  lungs 
with  a  breath  of  ecstasy  the  sharp  salt  wind  that  blew 
across  the  water's  surface. 


96  RODMOOR 


"  But  out  of  your  fear  we'll  make  a  bond  between 
us,"  he  went  on,  raising  his  voice,  "  a  bond  which  none 
of  them  shall  be  able  to  break !  " 

He  suddenly  bent  down  and,  scooping  with  his  fingers 
in  the  water,  lifted  towards  her  a  handful  of  sea-foam 
that  gleamed  ghostly  white  as  he  held  it. 

"  There,  child,"  he  cried,  "  you  can't  escape  from  me 
now!" 

As  he  spoke  he  flung,  with  a  wild  laugh,  straight 
across  her  face,  the  foam-bubbles  which  he  had  caught. 
She  started  back  with  a  little  gasp,  but  recovering  her- 
self instantly  lifted  the  hand  which  held  her  own  and 
pressed  it  against  her  forehead.  They  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment, after  this,  staring  at  one  another,  with  a  hushed, 
dazed,  bewildered  stare,  as  though  they  felt  the  very 
wind  of  the  wing  of  fate  pass  over  their  heads. 

Brand  broke  the  spell  with  a  laugh.  "  I've  chris- 
tened you  now,"  he  said,  "  so  I  can  call  you  what  I  like. 
Come  up  here,  Linda,  my  little  one,  and  let's  talk  of  all 
this." 

Hand  in  hand  they  moved  away  from  the  sea's  edge 
and  crouched  down  in  the  shadow  of  the  sand-dunes. 
The  rose-coloured  light  died  out  along  the  line  of  foam 
and  the  mass  of  the  waters  in  front  of  them  darkened 
steadily,  as  if  obscured  by  the  over-hovering  of  some 
colossal  bird.  Far  off,  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  a 
single  fragment  of  drifting  cloud  took  the  shape  of  a 
bloody  hand  with  outstretched  forefinger  but  even  that 
soon  faded  as  the  sun,  sinking  into  the  fens  behind  them, 
gave  up  the  struggle  with  darkness. 

With  the  passing  of  the  light  from  the  sea's  surface, 
all  that  was  left  of  the  wind  sank  also  into  absolute  im- 
mobility.    An    immense    liberating    silence    intensified, 


VESPERS  97 


rather  than  interrupted  by  the  monotonous  splash  of 
the  waves,  seemed  to  stream  forth  from  some  planetary 
reservoir  and  overflow  the  world. 

Not  a  sea-gull  screamed,  not  a  sound  came  from  the 
harbour,  not  a  plover  cried  from  the  marshes,  not  a 
step,  not  a  voice,  not  a  whisper,  approached  their  soli- 
tude or  disturbed  their  strange  communion. 

Linda  sat  with  her  head  sunk  low  upon  her  breast 
and  her  hands  clasped  upon  her  knees.  Brand,  beside 
lier,  caressed  her  whole  figure  with  an  intense  gaze  of 
concentrated  possession. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  a  word,  but  one  of  the  man's 
heavy  hands  lay  upon  hers  like  a  leaden  weight  bruising 
a  fragile  plant. 

What  he  seemed  attempting  to  achieve  in  that  con- 
spiring hour  was  some  kind  of  magnetizing  of  the  girl's 
senses  so  that  the  first  movement  of  overt  passion  should 
come  from  her  rather  than  from  himself.  In  this  it 
would  seem  he  was  not  unsuccessful,  for  after  two  or 
three  scarce  audible  sighs  her  body  trembled  a  little  and 
leant  towards  his  and  a  low  whisper  uttered  in  a  tone 
quite  unlike  her  ordinary  one,  tore  itself  from  her  lips, 
as  if  against  her  volition. 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  me.''  "  she  murmured. 

While  the  invisible  destinies  were  thus  inaugurating 
their  projected  work  upon  Brand  and  Linda,  Nance 
and  i\Irs.  Renshaw  issued  forth  from  the  churchyard. 

"  If  only  life  were  clearer,"  the  girl  was  thinking, 
"  it  would  be  endurable.  It's  this  uncertainty  in  every- 
thing —  this  dreadful  uncertainty  —  which  I  can't 
bear ! " 

"  That  was  a  beautiful  psalm  we  had  just  now,"  said 
Mrs.  Renshaw,  in  her  gentle  penetrating  voice  as,  after 


98  RODMOOR 


some  minutes'  silent  walking  they  emerged  upon  the 
bridge  across  the  Loon.  Nance  looked  down  over  the 
parapet  and  in  her  depressed  fancy  she  saw  the  drowned 
figure  of  herself,  drifting,  face  upward,  upon  the  flow- 
ing water. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  mechanically,  "  the  psalms  are 
always  beautiful." 

"  I  don't  believe,"  the  lady  went  on,  glancing  at  her 
with  eyes  so  hollow  and  sorrowful  that  it  seemed  as 
though  the  twilight  of  a  world  even  sadder  than  the  one 
they  looked  upon  emanated  from  them,  "  I  don't  believe 
I  understand  that  little  sister  of  yours.  She's  very 
highly  strung  —  she's  very  nervous.  She  requires  a 
great  deal  of  care.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  consider 
my  son  Brand  at  all  a  good  companion  for  her.  I  wish 
they'd  waited  and  not  gone  off  like  that.  He  doesn't 
always  remember  what  a  sensitive  thing  the  heart  of  a 
young  girl  is." 

They  had  now  reached  the  southern  side  of  the  Loon 
and  were  on  the  main  road  between  Rodmoor  and  Mund- 
ham.  A  few  paces  further  brought  them  to  the  first 
houses  of  the  village.  Something  in  the  helpless,  apolo- 
getic, deprecatory  way  with  which,  just  then,  Mrs. 
Renshaw  greeted  an  old  woman  who  passed  them,  had  a 
strangely  irritating  effect  upon  Nance's  nerves. 

"  I  don't  see  why  young  people  should  be  considered 
more  than  any  one  else !  "  she  burst  out.  "  It's  a  purely 
conventional  idea.  We  all  have  our  troubles,  and  what 
I  think  is  the  older  you  get  the  more  difficult  life  be- 


comes." 


Mrs.  Renshaw's  face  assumed  a  mask  of  weary  ob- 
stinacy and  she  walked  more  slowly,  her  head  bent  for- 
ward a  little  and  her  feet  dragging. 


VESPERS  99 


"  Women  have  to  learn  what  duty  means,"  she  said, 
"  and  the  sooner  they  learn  it  the  better.  Those  among 
us  who  are  privileged  to  make  one  good  man  happy  have 
the  best  that  life  can  give.  It's  natural  to  be  restless 
till  you  have  this.  But  we  must  try  to  overcome  our 
restlessness.     We  must  ask  for  help." 

She  was  silent.  Her  white  face  drooped  and  bowed 
itself,  while  her  tired  fingers  relaxed  their  hold  on  her 
skirt  which  trailed  in  the  dust  of  the  road.  Her  profile, 
as  Nance  glanced  sideways  at  it,  had  a  look  of  hopeless 
and  helpless  passivity. 

The  girl  withdrew  into  herself,  irritated  and  yet  re- 
morseful. She  felt  an  obscure  longing  to  be  of  some 
service  to  this  unhappy  one ;  yet  as  she  watched  her, 
thus  bowed  and  impenetrable,  she  felt  shut  out  and  ex- 
cluded. 

Before  they  reached  the  centre  of  the  village  —  for 
Nance  felt  unwilling  to  leave  Mrs.  Renshaw  until  she 
had  seen  her  safe  within  her  park  gates  —  they  sud- 
denly came  upon  Baltazar  Stork  returning  from  his 
daily  excursion  to  Mundham. 

He  was  as  elegantly  dressed  as  usual  and  in  one  hand 
carried  a  little  black  bag,  in  the  other  a  bunch  of 
peonies.  Nance,  to  her  surprise,  caught  upon  her  com- 
panion's face  a  look  of  extraordinary  illumination  as 
the  man  advanced  towards  them.  In  recalling  the  look 
afterwards,  she  found  herself  thinking  of  the  word 
"  vivacity  "  in  regard  to  it. 

"  Oh,  I'm  alwaj's  the  same,"  Mr.  Stork  replied  to  the 
elder  lady's  greeting.  "  I  grow  more  annoyingly  the 
same  every  day.  I  say  the  same  things,  think  the  same 
thoughts  and  meet  the  same  people.     It's  —  lovely  !  " 

"  I'm  glad  you   ended  like   that,"   observed   Nance, 


100  RODMOOR 


laughing.  It  was  one  of  her  peculiarities  to  laugh  —  a 
little  foolishly  —  when  she  was  embarrassed  and  though 
she  had  encountered  Sorio's  friend  once  or  twice  before, 
she  felt  for  some  reason  or  other  ill  at  ease  with  him. 

With  exquisite  deliberation  Mr.  Stork  placed  the 
black  bag  upon  the  ground  and  selecting  two  of  the 
freshest  blooms  from  his  gorgeous  bunch,  handed  one 
by  the  light  of  a  little  shop  window  to  each  of  the 
women. 

"  How  is  your  friend.'^  "  enquired  Mrs.  Renshaw  with 
a  touch  of  irony  in  her  tone.  "  This  young  lady  has 
not  not  seen  him  to-day." 

At  that  moment  Nance  realized  that  she  hated  this 
melancholy  being  whom  a  chance  encounter  with  her 
husband's  son  seemed  to  throw  into  such  malicious 
spirits.  She  felt  that  everything  Mrs.  Renshaw  was 
destined  to  say  from  now  till  they  separated,  would  be 
designed  to  humiliate  and  annoy  her.  This  may  have 
been  a  fantastic  illusion,  but  she  acted  upon  it  with 
resolute  abruptness. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  exclaimed,  turning  to  her  com- 
panion, "  I'll  leave  you  in  Mr.  Stork's  care.  I  promised 
Rachel  not  to  be  late  to-night.  Good-bye  —  and  thank 
you,"  she  bowed  to  the  young  man  and  held  up  the 
peony,  "  for  this." 

"  She's  jealous,"  remarked  Baltazar  as  he  led  Mrs. 
Renshaw  across  the  green  under  the  darkening  syca- 
mores. "She  is  abominably  jealous!  She  was  in  a 
furious  temper  —  I  saw  it  myself  —  when  Adrian  took 
her  sister  out  the  other  day  and  now  she's  wild  because 
he's  friendly  with  Philippa.  Oh,  these  girls,  these 
girls!" 

An  amused  smile  flickered  for  a  moment  across  the 


VESPERS  101 


lady's  face  but  she  suppressed  it  instantly.  She  sighed 
heavily.  "  You  are  all  too  much  for  me,"  she  said, 
"  too  much  for  me.  I'm  getting  old,  Tassar.  God  be 
merciful !     This  world  is  not  an  easy  place  to  live  in." 

She  walked  by  his  side  after  this  in  heavy  silence  till 
they  reached  the  entrance  of  the  park. 


VIII 

SUN  AND  SEA 

AS  the  days  began  to  grow  warmer  and  in  the 
more  sheltered  gardens  the  first  roses  appeared, 
Nance  was  not  the  only  one  who  showed  signs 
of  uneasiness  over  Adrian  Sorio's  disturbed  state  of 
mind. 

Baltazar  was  frequently  at  a  loss  to  know  where, 
in  the  long  twilights,  his  friend  wandered.  Over  and 
over  again,  after  June  commenced,  the  poor  epicure  was 
doomed  to  take  his  supper  in  solitude  and  sit  companion- 
less  through  the  evening  in  the  grassy  enclosure  at  the 
back  of  his  house. 

As  the  longest  day  approached  and  the  heavily 
scented  hawthorn  tree  which  was  the  chief  ornament  of 
his  small  garden  had  scattered  nearly  all  its  red  blos- 
soms, Stork's  uneasiness  reached  such  a  pitch  that  he 
protested  vigorously  to  the  wanderer,  using  violent  ex- 
pressions and,  while  not  precisely  accusing  him  of  in- 
gratitude, making  it  quite  plain  that  this  was  neither 
the  mood  nor  the  treatment  he  expected  from  so  old  a 
friend. 

Sorio  received  this  outburst  meekly  enough  —  in- 
deed he  professed  himself  entirely  penitent  and  ready  to 
amend  his  ways  —  but  as  the  days  went  on,  instead  of 
any  improvement  in  the  matter,  things  became  rapidly 
worse  and  worse. 

Baltazar  could  learn  nothing  definitely  of  what  he 

102 


SUN  AND  SEA 103 

did  when  he  disappeared  but  tlie  impression  gradually 
emphasized  itself  that  he  spent  these  lonely  hours  in  im- 
mense, solitary  walks  along  the  edge  of  the  sea.  He 
returned  sometimes  like  a  man  absolutely  exhausted  and 
on  these  occasions  his  friend  could  not  help  observing 
that  his  shoes  were  full  of  sand  and  his  face  scorched. 

One  especially  hot  afternoon,  when  Stork  had  re- 
turned from  IMundham  by  the  midday  train  in  the  hope 
of  finding  Adrian  ready  to  stroll  with  him  under  the 
trees  in  the  park,  there  occurred  quite  a  bitter  and 
violent  scene  between  them  when  the  latter  insisted,  as 
soon  as  their  meal  was  over,  on  setting  off  alone. 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  "  Adrian  finally  flung  back  at  his 
entertainer  when  —  his  accustomed  urbanity  quite 
broken  down  —  the  aggrieved  Baltazar  gave  vent  to  the 
suppressed  irritation  of  many  days.  "  Go  to  the 
devil !  "  the  unconscionable  man  repeated,  putting  down 
his  hat  over  his  head  and  striding  across  the  green. 

Once  clear  of  the  little  town,  he  let  his  speed  subside 
into  a  more  ordinary  pace  and,  crossing  the  bridge  over 
the  Loon,  made  his  way  to  the  sea  shore.  The  blazing 
sunshine,  pouring  down  from  a  sky  that  contained  no 
trace  of  a  cloud,  seemed  to  have  secured  the  power  that 
day  of  reducing  even  the  ocean  itself  to  a  kind  of  magne- 
tised stupor.  The  waters  rolled  in,  over  the  sparkling 
sands,  with  a  long,  somnolent,  oih'  ripple  that  spent  it- 
self and  drew  back  without  so  much  as  a  flicker  or  flake 
of  foam.  The  sea-gulls  floated  languidly  on  the  un- 
ruffled tide,  or  quarrelled  with  little,  short,  petulant 
screams  over  the  banks  of  bleached  pungent-smelling 
seaweed  where  swarms  of  scavenging  flies  shared  with 
them  their  noonday  fretfulncss. 

On  the  wide  expanse  of  the  sea  itself  there  lay  a 


104  RODMOOR 


kind  of  glittering  haze,  thin  and  metallic,  as  if  ham- 
mered out  of  some  marine  substance  less  resistant  but 
not  less  dazzling  than  copper  or  gold.  This  was  in  the 
mid-distance,  so  to  speak,  of  the  great  plain  of  water. 
In  the  remote  distance  the  almost  savage  glitter  dimin- 
ished and  a  dull  livid  glare  took  its  place,  streaked  in 
certain  parts  of  the  horizon  by  heavy  bars  of  silvery 
mist  where  the  sea  touched  the  sky.  The  broad  reaches 
of  hard  sand  smouldered  and  flickered  under  the  sun's 
blaze  and  little  vibrating  heat  waves  danced  like  shape- 
less demons  over  the  summit  of  the  higher  dunes. 

Turning  his  face  northward,  Sorio  began  walking 
slowly  now  and  with  occasional  glances  at  the  dunes, 
along  the  level  sand  by  the  sea's  edge.  He  reached  in 
this  way  a  spot  nearly  two  miles  from  Rodmoor  where 
for  leagues  and  leagues  in  either  direction  no  sign  of 
human  life  was  visible. 

He  was  alone  with  the  sun  and  the  sea,  the  sun  that 
was  dominating  the  water  and  the  water  that  was  domi- 
nating the  land. 

He  stood  still  and  waited,  his  heart  beating,  his  pulses 
feverish,  his  deep-sunken  eyes  full  of  a  passionate,  ex- 
pectant light.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  Stepping 
down  slowly  from  the  grass-covered  dunes,  past  a  de- 
serted fisherman's  hut  which  had  become  their  familiar 
rendezvous,  came  the  desired  figure.  She  walked  de- 
liberately, slowly,  with  a  movement  that,  as  Sorio 
hastened  to  meet  her,  had  something  almost  defiant  in 
its  dramatic  reserve. 

They  greeted  one  another  with  a  certain  awkward- 
ness. Neither  held  out  a  hand  —  neither  smiled.  It 
might  have  been  a  meeting  of  two  conspirators  fearful 
of  betrayal.     It  was  only  after  they  had  walked  in 


SUN  AND  SEA  105 

silence,  side  by  side  and  still  northwards  for  several 
minutes,  that  Sorio  began  speaking,  but  his  words  broke 
from  him  then  with  a  tempestuous  vehemence. 

"  None  of  these  people  here  know  me,"  he  cried,  "  not 
one  of  them.  They  take  me  for  a  dawdler,  an  idler,  an 
idiotic  fool.  Well !  That's  nothing.  Nance  doesn't 
know  me.  She  doesn't  care  to  know  me.  She  —  she 
loves!  As  if  love  were  what  I  wanted  —  as  if  love  were 
enough ! " 

He  was  silent  and  the  girl  looked  at  him  curiously, 
waiting  for  him  to  say  more. 

"  They'd  be  a  bit  surprised,  wouldn't  they,"  he  burst 
out,  "  if  they  knew  about  the  manuscripts  he  " —  he  ut- 
tered this  last  word  with  concentrated  reverence, —  "  is 
guarding  for  me  over  there.''  He  understands  me,  Phil, 
and  not  a  living  person  except  him.  Listen,  Phil ! 
Since  I've  known  j'ou  I've  been  able  to  breathe  —  just 
able  to  breathe  —  in  this  damned  England.  Before 
that  —  God  !  I  shudder  to  think  of  it  —  I  was  dumb, 
strangled,  suffocated,  paraWzed,  dead.  Even  now  — 
even  with  you,  Phil, —  I'm  still  fumbling  and  groping 
after  it  —  after  what  I  have  to  say  to  the  world,  after 
my  secret,  my  idea ! 

"  It  hurts  me,  my  idea.  You  know  that  feeling,  Phil. 
But  I'm  getting  it  into  order  —  into  shape.  Look 
here!" 

He  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  small  thick  notebook 
closely  written,  blurred  with  erasures  and  insertions, 
stained  with  salt-water. 

"  That's  what  I've  done  since  I've  known  you  —  in 
this  last  month  —  and  it's  better  than  anything  I've 
written  before.  It's  clearer.  It  hits  the  mark  more 
crushingly.     Phil,  listen  to  me!     I  know  I've  got  it  in 


106  RODMOOR 


me  to  give  to  the  world  something  it's  never  dreamed  of 

—  something  with  a  real  madness  of  truth  in  it  —  some- 
thing with  a  bite  that  gets  to  the  very  bone  of  things. 
I  know  I've  got  that  in  me." 

He  stooped  down  and  picked  up  a  stranded  jelly-fish 
that  lay  —  a  mass  of  quivering,  helpless  iridescence  — 
in  the  scorching  sun.  He  stepped  into  the  water  till  it 
was  over  his  shoes  and  flung  the  thing  far  out  into  the 
oily  sea.  It  sank  at  once  to  the  bottom,  leaving  a  small 
circle  of  ripples. 

"  Go  on,  go  on !  "  cried  the  girl,  looking  at  him  with 
eyes  that  darkened  and  grew  more  insatiable  as  she 
felt  his  soul  stir  and  quiver  and  strip  itself  before  her. 

*'  Go  on !     Tell  me  more  about  Nance." 

*'  I  have  told  you,"  he  muttered,  "  I've  told  you  every- 
thing. She's  good  and  faithful  and  kind.  She  gives 
me  love  —  oh,  endless  love !  —  but  that's  not  what  I 
want.      She  no  more  understands  me  than  I  understand 

—  eternity  !     Little  Linda  reads  me  better." 
"  Tell  me  about  Linda,"  murmured  the  girl. 

Sorio  threw  a  wild  glance  around  them.  "  It's  her 
fear  that  taught  her  what  she  knew  —  what  she  guessed. 
Fear  reads  deep  and  far.  Fear  breaks  through  many 
barriers.  But  she's  changed  now  since  she's  been  with 
Brand.     She's  become  like  the  rest." 

"  Oh,  Brand  — !  "  Philippa  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
"  So  }ie''s  come  into  it?  Well,  let  them  go.  Tell  me 
more  about  Nance.  Does  she  cling  to  you  and  make  a 
fuss?     Docs  she  try  the  game  of  tears?  " 

Sorio  looked  at  her  sharply.  A  vague  suspicion  in- 
vaded the  depths  of  his  heart.  They  walked  along  in 
silence  for  several  minutes.  The  power  of  the  sun 
seemed  to  increase.     A  mass  of  seaweed,  floating  below 


SUN  AND  SEA 107 

the  water,  caused  in  one  place  an  amber-coloured  shadow 
to  break  the  monotony  of  the  glittering  surface. 

"  Does  your  son  believe  in  you  —  as  I  do?  "  she  asked 
gently. 

As  soon  as  the  words  had  crossed  her  lips  she  knew 
they  were  the  very  last  she  ought  to  have  uttered.  The 
man  withdrew  into  himself  with  a  rigid  tightening  of 
every  nerve.  No  one  —  certainly  not  Nance  —  had 
ever  dared  to  touch  this  subject.  Once  to  Nance,  in 
London,  and  twice  recently  to  his  present  companion, 
had  he  referred  to  Baptiste  but  this  direct  question 
about  the  boy  was  too  much ;  it  outraged  something  in 
him  which  was  beyond  articulation.  The  shock  given 
him  was  so  intense  and  the  reaction  upon  his  feelings  so 
vivid  that,  hardly  conscious  of  what  he  did,  he  thrust 
his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  clutched  tightly  with  his 
fingers  the  book  containing  his  work,  as  though  to  pro- 
tect it  from  aggression.  As  he  thus  stood  there  before 
her,  stiff  and  speechless,  she  could  only  console  herself 
by  the  fact  that  he  avoided  her  eyes. 

Her  mind  moved  rapidly.  She  must  invent,  at  all 
costs,  some  relief  to  this  tension.  She  had  trusted  her 
magnetism  too  far. 

"  Adriano,"  she  said,  imitating  with  feminine  instinct 
Baltazar's  caressing  intonation,  "  I  want  to  bathe. 
We're  out  of  sight  of  every  one.  We  know  each  other 
well  enough  now.      Shall  we  —  together?  " 

He  met  her  eyes  now.  There  was  a  subtile  appeal  in 
their  depths  which  drew  him  to  her  and  troubled  his 
senses.  He  nodded  and  uttered  an  embarrassed  laugh. 
"  Why  not?  "  he  answered. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said  quickly,  clinching  her  sugges- 
tion before  he  had  time  to  revoke  his  assent,  "  I'll  just 


108  RODMOOR 


run  behind  these  sand  liills  and  take  oJl  my  things.  You 
undress  here  and  get  into  the  water.  And  swim  out, 
too,  Adrian,  with  jour  back  to  me !     I'll  soon  join  you." 

She  left  him  and  he  obeyed  her  mechanically  —  only 
looking  nervously  round  for  a  moment  as  he  folded  his 
coat  containing  the  precious  manuscript  and  laid  a 
heavy  stone  upon  it. 

He  plunged  out  into  the  wavelcss  sea  with  fierce,  im- 
petuous strokes.  The  water  yielded  to  his  violent  move- 
ments like  a  lake  of  quicksilver.  Dazzling  threads  and 
flakes  and  rainbows  flashed  up,  wavered,  trembled,  glit- 
tered and  vanished  as  he  swam  forward.  With  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  immense  dome  of  sky  above  him,  where,  like 
the  rim  of  a  burnished  shield,  it  cut  down  into  the  hori- 
zon, he  struck  out  incessantly,  persistently,  seeking,  in 
thus  embracing  a  universe  of  white  light,  to  find  the 
escape  he  craved. 

Strange  thoughts  poured  through  his  brain  as  he 
swam  on.  The  most  novel,  the  most  terrific  of  the 
points  contained  in  those  dithyrambic  notes  left  behind 
under  the  stone  surged  up  before  him  and,  mingling  with 
them  in  fierce  exultant  aff"ection,  the  image  of  Baptiste 
beckoned  to  him  out  of  a  moulten  furnace  of  white 
light. 

Far  away  behind  him  at  last  he  heard  the  voice  of 
his  companion.  Whether  she  intended  him  to  turn  he 
did  not  know,  for  her  words  were  inaudible,  but  when  he 
did  he  perceived  that  she  was  standing,  a  slim  white 
figure,  at  the  water's  edge.  He  watched  her  with  feel- 
ings that  were  partly  bitter  and  partly  tender. 

"  Why  docs  she  stand  there  so  long?  "  he  muttered  to 
himself.  "  Why  doesn't  she  get  in  and  start  swim- 
ming? " 


SUN  AND  SEA  109 


As  if  made  aware  of  his  thought  by  some  telepathic 
instinct  the  girl  at  that  moment  slipped  into  the  water 
and  began  walking  slowly  forward,  her  hands  clasped 
behind  her  head.  When  the  water  reached  above  her 
knees  she  swung  up  her  hands  and  with  a  swift  spring 
of  her  white  body,  disappeared  from  view.  She  re- 
mained so  long  invisible  that  Sorio  grew  anxious  and 
took  several  vigorous  strokes  towards  her.  She  re-ap- 
peared at  last,  however,  and  was  soon  swimming  vigor- 
ously to  meet  him. 

When  they  met  she  insisted  on  advancing  further  and 
so,  side  by  side,  with  easy,  leisurely  movements,  they 
swam  out  to  sea,  their  eyes  on  the  far  horizon  and  their 
breath  coming  and  going  in  even  reciprocity. 

"  Far  enough !  "  cried  Sorio  at  last,  treading  water 
and  looking  closely  at  her. 

There  was  a  strange  wild  light  in  the  girl's  face. 
"  Why  go  back.?  "  her  look  seemed  to  say  — "  Why  not 
swim  on  and  on  together  —  until  the  waters  cover  us 
and  all  riddles  are  solved.?"  There  was  something  in 
her  expression  at  that  moment  —  as,  between  sky  and 
sea,  the  two  gazed  mutely  at  one  another  —  which 
seemed  to  interpret  some  terrible  and  uttermost  mys- 
tery. It  was,  however,  too  rare  a  moment  to  endure 
long,  and  they  turned  their  heads  landwards. 

The  return  took  longer  than  they  had  anticipated  and 
the  girl  was  swimming  very  slowly  and  displaying  evi- 
dent signs  of  exhaustion  before  the}'  got  near  shore. 
As  soon  as  she  could  touch  the  bottom  with  her  feet 
she  hurried  out  and  staggered,  with  stiff  limbs,  across 
the  sands  to  where  she  had  left  her  clothes. 

When  she  came  back,  dressed  and  in  lively  spirits, 
her  unbound  hair  shimmering  in  the  sunshine  like  wet 


110  RODMOOR 


silk,  she  found  him  pacing  the  sea's  edge  with  an  ex- 
pression of  gloomj  resolution. 

"  I  sliall  have  to  rewrite  every  word  of  these  notes," 
he  said,  striking  his  hand  against  his  pocket.  **  I  had 
a  new  thought  just  now  as  I  was  in  the  water  and  it 
changes  everything." 

She  threw  herself  down  on  the  hot  sand  and  spread 
out  her  hair  to  let  it  dry. 

"  Don't  let's  go  yet,  Adrian,"  she  pleaded.  "  I  feel 
so  sleepy  and  happy." 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully,  hardly  catching  the 
drift  of  her  words.  "  It  changes  everything,"  he  re- 
peated. 

"  Lie  down  here,"  she  murmured  softly,  letting  her 
gaze  meet  his  with  a  wistful  entreaty. 

He  placed  himself  beside  her.  "  Don't  get  hurt  by 
the  sun,"  he  said.  She  smiled  at  that  —  a  long,  slow, 
dreamy  smile  —  and  drawing  him  towards  her  with  her 
eyes,  "  I  believe  you're  afraid  of  me  to-day,  Adrian," 
she  whispered. 

Her  boyish  figure,  outlined  beneath  the  thin  dress 
she  wore,  seemed  to  breathe  a  sort  of  classic  voluptuous- 
ness as  she  languidly  stretched  her  limbs.  As  she  did 
this,  she  turned  her  head  sideways,  till  her  chin  rested 
on  her  shoulder  and  a  tress  of  brown  hair,  wet  and 
clinging,  fell  across  her  slender  neck. 

A  sudden  impulse  of  malice  seemed  to  seize  the  man 
who  bent  over  her.  *'  Your  hair  isn't  half  as  long  as 
Nance's,"  he  said,  turning  abruptly  away  and  hugging 
his  knees  with  his  arms. 

The  girl  drew  herself  together,  at  that,  like  a  snake 
from  under  a  heavy  foot  and,  propping  herself  up  on 
her  hands,  threw  a  glance   upon  him  which,  had  he 


SUN  AND  SEA  111 

caught  it,  might  have  produced  a  yet  further  change  in 
the  book  of  philosophic  notes.  Her  eyes,  for  one  pass- 
ing second,  held  in  them  something  that  was  like  livid 
fire  reflected  through  blue  ice. 

For  several  minutes  after  this  they  both  contemplated 
the  level  mass  of  illuminated  waters  with  absorbed  con- 
centration.    At  last  Adrian  broke  the  silence. 

"  What  I'm  aiming  at  in  my  book,"  he  said,  "  is  a 
revelation  of  how  the  essence  of  life  is  found  in  the  in- 
stinct of  destruction.  I  want  to  show  —  what  is  simply 
the  truth  —  that  the  pleasure  of  destruction,  destruc- 
tion entered  upon  out  of  sheer  joy  and  for  its  own  sake, 
lies  behind  every  living  impulse  that  pushes  life  forward. 
Out  of  destruction  alone  —  out  of  the  rending  and 
tearing  of  something  —  of  something  in  the  way  — 
does  new  life  spring  to  birth.  It  isn't  destruction  for 
cruelty's  sake,"  he  went  on,  his  fingers  closing  and  un- 
closing at  his  side  over  a  handful  of  sand.  "  Cruelty 
is  mere  inverted  sentiment.  Cruelty  implies  attraction, 
passion,  even  —  in  some  cases  —  love.  Pure  destruc- 
tion —  destruction  for  its  own  sake  —  such  as  I  see  it 
—  is  no  thick,  heavy,  muddy,  perverted  impulse  such  as 
the  cruel  are  obsessed  by.  It's  a  burning  and  devour- 
ing flame.  It's  a  mad,  splendid  revel  of  glaring  white- 
ness like  this  which  hurts  our  e^'es  now.  I'm  going  to 
show  in  my  book  how  the  ultimate  essence  of  life,  as  we 
find  it,  purest  and  most  purged  in  the  ecstasies  of  the 
saints,  is  nothing  but  an  insanity  of  destruction ! 
That's  really  what  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  asceti- 
cism and  all  the  renunciation  in  the  v,orld.  It's  the  in- 
stinct to  destroy  —  to  destroy  what  lies  nearest  to  one's 
hand  —  in  this  case,  of  course,  one's  own  body  and  the 
passions  of  the  body.     Ascetics  fancy  they  do  this  for 


112  RODMOOR 


the  sake  of  their  souls.  That's  their  illusion.  They  do 
it  for  its  own  sake  —  for  the  sake  of  the  ecstasy  of  de- 
struction !  Man  is  the  highest  of  all  animals  because 
he  can  destroy  the  most.  The  saints  are  the  highest 
among  men  because  they  can  destroy  humanity." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and,  picking  up  a  flat  stone 
from  the  sea's  edge,  sent  it  skimming  across  the 
water. 

"  Five ! "  he  cried,  as  the  stone  sank  at  last. 

The  girl  rose  and  stood  beside  him.  "  I  can  play  at 
'  Ducks  and  Drakes  '  too,"  she  said,  imitating  his  action 
with  another  stone  which,  however,  sank  heavily  after 
only  three  cuttings  of  the  shiny  surface. 

"  You  can't  play  '  Ducks  and  Drakes  '  with  the  uni- 
verse," retorted  Sorio.  "  No  girl  can  —  not  even  you, 
with  your  boy-arms  and  boy-legs !  You  can't  even 
throw  a  stone  out  of  pure  innocence.  You  only  threw 
that  —  just  now  —  because  I  did  and  because  you 
wanted  me  to  see  you  swing  your  arm  —  and  because 
you  wanted  to  change  the  conversation." 

He  looked  her  up  and  down  with  an  air  of  sullen 
mockery.  "  What  the  saints  and  the  mystics  seek,"  he 
went  on,  "  is  the  destruction  of  everything  within  reach 
—  of  everything  that  sticks  out,  that  obtrudes,  that  is 
simply  there.  That  is  why  they  throw  their  stones  at 
every  form  of  natural  life.  But  the  life  they  attack  is 
doing  the  same  thing  itself  in  a  cruder  way.  The  sea 
is  destroying  the  land;  the  grass  is  destroying  the 
flowers ;  the  flowers  one  another ;  the  woods,  the  marshes, 
the  fens,  are  all  destroying  something.  The  saints 
are  only  the  maddest  and  wisest  of  all  destroyers  — " 

"  Sorio !  There's  a  starfish  out  there  —  being 
washed  in.     Oh,  let  me  try  and  reach  it !  " 


SUN  AND  SEA  113 

She  snatched  his  stick  from  him  and  catciiing  up  her 
skirt  stepped  into  the  water. 

"  Let  it  be !  "  he  muttered,  "  let  it  be !  " 

She  gave  up  her  attempt  witli  un  impatient  shrug 
but  continued  to  watch  tlie  steady  pressure  of  the  in- 
coming tide  with  absorbed  interest. 

"  What  the  saints  aim  at,"  Sorio  continued,  "  and 
the  great  poets  too,  is  that  absolute  white  light,  which 
means  the  drowning,  the  blinding,  the  annihilating,  of 
all  these  paltry-coloured  things  which  assert  themselves 
and  try  to  make  themselves  immortal.  The  only  god- 
like happiness  is  the  happiness  of  seeing  world  after 
world  tumbled  into  oblivion.  That's  the  mad,  sweet 
secret  thought  at  the  back  of  all  the  religions.  God  — 
as  the  great  terrible  minds  of  antiquity  never  forgot 
—  is  the  supreme  name  for  that  ultimate  destruction 
of  all  things  which  is  the  only  goal.  That's  why  God 
is  always  visualised  as  a  blaze  of  blinding  white  light. 
That's  why  the  Sun-God,  greatest  of  destroyers,  is  pic- 
tured with  burning  arrows." 

While  Adrian  continued  in  this  wild  strain,  expound- 
ing his  desperate  philosophy,  it  was  a  pity  there  was  no 
one  to  watch  the  various  expressions  which  crossed  in 
phantasmal  sequence,  like  evil  ghosts  over  a  lovely  mir- 
ror, the  face  of  Philippa  Renshaw. 

The  conflict  between  the  man  and  woman  was, 
indeed,  at  that  moment,  of  curious  and  elaborate  inter- 
est. While  he  flung  out,  in  this  passionate  way,  his 
metaphysical  iconoclasm,  her  instinct  —  the  shrewd 
feminine  instinct  to  reduce  everything  to  the  personal 
touch  —  remained  fretting,  chafing,  irritable,  and  un- 
satisfied. It  was  nothing  to  her  that  the  formula  he 
used  was  the  formula  of  her  own  instincts.     She  loved 


114  RODMOOR 


destruction  but  in  her  subtle  heart  she  despised,  with  in- 
finite contempt,  all  philosophical  theories  —  despised 
them  as  being  simply  irrelevant  and  off  the  track  of 
actual  life  —  off  the  track,  in  fact,  of  those  primitive 
personal  impulses  which  alone  possess  colour,  perfume, 
salt  and  sweetness ! 

Vaguely,  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul,  even  while  he  was 
speaking,  Sorio  knew  that  the  girl  was  irritated  and 
piqued;  but  the  consciousness  of  this,  so  far  from  be- 
ing unpleasant,  gave  an  added  zest  to  his  words.  He 
revenged  himself  on  her  for  the  attraction  he  felt  to- 
wards her  by  showing  her  that  in  the  metaphysical 
world  at  any  rate,  he  could  reduce  her  to  non-existence ! 
Her  annoyance  at  last  gave  her,  in  desperation,  a 
flash  of  diabolic  cunning.  She  tossed  out  to  him  as  a 
bait  for  his  ravening  analysis,  her  own  equivocal  na- 
ture. 

"  I  know  well  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  as  they 
moved  slowly  back  towards  Rodmoor.  "  Poor  dear, 
you  must  have  been  torn  and  rent,  yourself,  to  have 
come  to  such  a  point  of  insight !  I,  too,  in  my  way, 
have  experienced  something  of  the  sort.  My  brain 
—  you  know  that,  by  this  time,  don't  you,  Adriano?  — 
is  the  brain  of  a  man  while  my  body  is  the  body  of  a 
woman.  Oh,  I  hate  this  woman's  body  of  mine,  Adrian  ! 
You  can't  know  how  I  hate  it !  All  that  annoys  you 
in  me,  and  all  that  annoys  myself  too,  comes  from 
this,"  and  she  pressed  her  little  hands  savagely  to  her 
breast  as  she  spoke,  as  though,  there  before  him,  she 
would  tear  out  the  very  soul  of  her  femininity. 

"  From  earliest  childhood,"  she  went  on,  "  I've  loathed 
being  a  girl.  Long  nights,  sometimes,  I've  lain  awake, 
crying  and  crying  and  crying,  because  I  wasn't  born 


SUN  AND  SEA  115 

different.  I've  hated  my  mother  for  it.  I  hate  her 
still,  I  hate  her  because  she  has  a  morbid,  sentimental 
mania  for  what  she  calls  the  sensitiveness  of  young 
girls.  The  sensitiveness !  As  if  they  weren't  the 
toughest,  stupidest,  sleepiest  things  in  the  world ! 
They're  not  sensitive  at  all.  They've  neither  sensitive- 
ness nor  fastidiousness  nor  modesty  nor  decency !  It's 
all  put  on  —  every  bit  of  it.  I  knoxc,  for  I'm  like  that 
myself  —  or  half  of  me  is.  I  betray  myself  to  myself 
and  lacerate  myself  for  being  m^'self.  It's  a  curious 
state  of  things  —  isn't  it,  Adriano?  " 

She  had  worked  herself  up  into  such  a  passion  of  emo- 
tional self-pity  that  great  swimming  tears  blurred  the 
tragic  supplication  of  her  eyes.  The  weary  swing  of 
her  body  as  she  walked  by  his  side  and  the  droop  of  her 
neck  as  she  let  her  head  fall  when  his  glance  did  not  re- 
spond were  obviously  not  assumed.  The  revelation  of 
herself,  entered  upon  for  an  exterior  purpose,  had  gone 
further  than  she  intended  and  this  very  stripping  of 
herself  bare  which  was  to  have  been  her  triumph  became 
her  humiliation  when  witnessed  so  calmly,  so  indiffer- 
ently. 

After  this  they  walked  for  a  long  while  in  silence, 
he  so  possessed  by  the  thrilling  sense  of  having  a  new 
vista  of  thought  under  his  command  that  he  was  hardly 
conscious  of  her  presence,  and  she  in  obstinate  bitter 
resolution  wrestling  with  the  remorse  of  her  mistake 
and  searching  for  some  other  means  —  any  means  — 
of  sapping  the  strength  of  his  independence. 

As  they  moved  on  and  the  afternoon  advanced,  a 
large  and  striking  change  took  place  in  the  appearance 
of  the  scene.  A  narrow,  clear-cut  line  of  shadow  made 
itself  visible  below  the  sand-dunes.     The  sky  lost  its 


116  RODMOOR 


metallic  glitter  and  became  a  deep  hyacinthine  blue,  a 
blue  which  after  a  while  communicated  itself,  with  hardly 
any  change  in  its  tint,  to  the  wide-spread  volume  of 
water  beneath  it.  In  those  spots  where  masses  of  sea- 
weed floated  beneath  the  surface,  the  omnipresent  blue 
deepened  to  a  rich  indescribable  purple,  that  amazing 
purple  more  frequent  in  southern  than  in  northern  seas, 
which  we  may  suppose  is  indicated  in  the  Homeric  epi- 
thet "  wine  dark." 

As  the  friends  approached  the  familiar  environs  of 
Rodmoor  they  suddenly  came  upon  a  fisherman's  boat 
pulled  up  upon  the  sand,  with  some  heavy  nets  left  lying 
beside  it. 

"  Sorio !  "  cried  the  girl,  stooping  down  and  lifting 
the  meshes  of  one  of  these,  "  Sorio !  there's  something 
alive  left  here.     Look !  " 

He  bent  over  the  net  beside  her  and  began  hastily 
disentangling  several  little  silvery  fish  which  were  strug- 
gling and  flapping  feebly  and  opening  their  tiny  gills  in 
labouring  gasps. 

"  All  right  —  all  right !  "  cried  the  man,  addressing 
in  his  excitement  the  tiny  prisoners,  "  I'll  soon  set  you 
free." 

"What  are  you  doing,  Adrian?"  expostulated  the 
girl.  "  No  —  no  !  You  mustn't  throw  them  back  — 
you  mustn't !  The  children  always  come  round  when 
school's  over  and  search  the  nets.  It's  a  Rodmoor  cus- 
tom." 

"  It's  a  custom  I'm  going  to  break,  then  !  "  he  shouted, 
rushing  towards  the  sea  with  a  handful  of  gasping  little 
lives.  His  fingers  when  he  returned,  were  covered  with 
glittering  scales  but  they  did  not  outshine  the  gleam  in 
his  face. 


SUN  AND  SEA  117 

"  You  sliould  have  seen  tlieiii  dash  away,"  he  cried. 
"  I'm  glad  those  children  won't  find  them !  " 

"  They'll  find  others,"  remarked  Philippa  Renshaw. 
"  There'll  always  be  some  nets  that  have  fish  left  in 
them." 


IX 

PRIEST  AND  DOCTOR 

THERE  are  hours  in  every  man's  day  when  the 
main  current  of  his  destiny,  rising  up  from 
some  hidden  channel,  becomes  a  recognizable 
and  palpable  element  in  his  consciousness.  Such  hours, 
if  a  man's  profoundest  life  is  —  so  to  speak  —  in  har- 
mony with  the  greater  gods,  are  hours  of  indescribable 
and  tremulous  happiness. 

It  was  nothing  less  than  an  experience  of  this  kind 
which  flowed  deliciously,  like  a  wave  of  divine  ether, 
over  the  consciousness  of  Hamish  Traherne  on  the  day 
following  the  one  when  Sorio  and  Philippa  walked  so 
far. 

As  he  crossed  his  garden  in  the  early  morning 
and  entered  the  church,  the  warm  sun  and  clear-cut 
shadows  filled  him  with  that  sense  of  indestructible  joy 
to  which  one  of  the  ancient  thinkers  has  given  the  beau- 
tiful name  of  /xovo^povos  rjBovT]  —  the  Pleasure  of  the  Ideal 
Now. 

From  the  eastern  window,  flooding  the  floor  of  the 
little  chancel,  there  poured  into  the  cool,  sweet-smelling 
place  a  stream  of  quivering  light.  He  had  opened 
wide  the  doors  under  the  tower  and  left  them  open  and 
he  heard,  as  he  sank  on  his  knees,  the  sharp  clear  twit- 
tering of  swallows  outside  and  the  chatter  of  a  flock  of 
starlings.     Through  every  pulse  and  fibre  of  his  being, 

as  he  knelt,  vibrated  an  unutterable  current  of  hap- 

118 


PRIEST  AND  DOCTOR  119 

piness,  of  happiness  so  great  that  the  words  of  his 
prayer  melted  and  dissolved  and  all  definite  thouglit 
melted  with  them  into  that  rare  mood  where  prayer  be- 
comes ecstasy  and  ecstasy  becomes  eternal. 

Returning  to  his  house  without  spilling  one  golden 
drop  of  what  was  being  allowed  him  of  the  wine  of  the 
Immortals,  he  brought  his  breakfast  out  into  the  garden 
and  ate  it,  lingeringly  and  dreamily,  by  the  side  of  his 
first  roses.  These  were  of  the  kind  known  as  "  the 
seven  sisters  " —  small  and  white-petaled  with  a  faint 
rose-flush  —  and  the  penetrating  odour  of  them  as  he 
bent  a  spray  down  towards  his  face  was  itself  sug- 
gestive of  old  rich  wine,  "  cooled  a  long  age  in  the  deep- 
delved  earth." 

From  the  marshes  below  the  parapet  came  exquisite 
scents  of  water-mint  and  flowering-rush  and,  along  with 
these,  the  subtle  fragrance,  pungent  and  aromatic,  of 
miles  and  miles  of  sun-heated  fens. 

The  grass  of  his  own  lawn  and  the  leaves  of  the  trees 
that  over-shadowed  it  breathed  the  peculiar  sweetness 

—  a  sweetness  unlike  anything  else  in  the  world  —  of 
the  first  hot  days  of  the  year  in  certain  old  East  Anglian 
gardens.  Whether  it  is  the  presence  of  the  sea  which 
endows  these  places  with  so  rare  a  quality  or  the  mere 
existence  of  reserve  and  austere  withholding  in  the  ways 
of  the  seasons  there,  it  were  hard  to  say,  but  the  fact 
remains  that  there  are  gardens  in  Norfolk  and  Suffolk 

—  and  to  Hamish  Trahernc's  flower-beds  in  spite  of  the 
modesty  of  their  appeal,  may  well  be  conceded  some- 
thing of  this  charm  —  which  surpass  all  others  in  the 
British  Isles  in  the  evocation  of  wistful  and  penetrating 
beauty. 

The  priest  had  just  lit  his  cigarette  and  was  sipping 


120  RODMOOR 


his  tea  when  he  was  startled  by  the  sudden  appearance 
of  Nance  Herrick,  Avhite  and  desperate  and  panting  for 
breath. 

"  I  had  to  come  to  you,"  she  gasped,  refusing  his 
proffered  chair  and  sinking  down  on  the  grass.  "  I  had 
to!  I  couldn't  bear  it.  I  couldn't  sleep.  I  couldn't 
stop  in  that  house.  I  saw  him  last  night.  He  was 
walking  with  her  near  the  harbour.  I  spoke  to  them. 
I  was  quiet  —  not  angry  or  bitter  at  all  and  he  let  her 
insult  me.  He  let  her  whip  me  with  her  tongue, 
wickedly,  cruelly  and  yet  so  under  cover,  so  sideways  — 
you  know  the  kind  of  thing,  Hamish?  —  that  I  couldn't 
answer.  If  I'd  been  alone  with  her  I  could  have,  but  his 
being  there  made  me  stupid,  miserable,  foolish !  And 
she  took  advantage  of  it.  She  said  —  oh,  such  mean, 
biting  things !  I  can't  say  them  to  you.  I  hate  to 
think  of  them.  They  went  right  through  me  like  a  steel 
lash.  And  he  stood  there  and  did  nothing.  He  was 
like  a  man  in  a  trance.  He  stood  there  and  let  her  do 
it.  Hamish  —  Hamish  —  I  wish  I  were  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea !  " 

She  bowed  her  white,  grief-distorted  face  until  it 
was  buried  in  the  grass.  The  sun,  playing  on  her 
bright  hair,  made  it  look  like  newly-minted  gold.  Mr. 
Traherne  sank  on  his  knees  beside  her.  His  ugliness, 
intensified  by  the  agitation  of  his  pity,  reached  a  pitch 
that  was  almost  sublime.  He  was  like  a  gargoyle  con- 
soling a  goddess. 

"  Child,  child,  listen  to  me!  "  he  cried,  his  husky  grat- 
ing voice  flinging  itself  upon  the  silence  of  her  misery 
like  a  load  of  rubble  upon  a  marble  pavement. 

"  There  are  moments  in  our  life  when  no  words,  how- 
ever tender,  however  wise,  can  do  any  good.     The  only 


PRIEST  AND  DOCTOR  121 

way  —  child,  it  is  so  —  it  is  so !  —  the  only  way  is  to 
find  in  love  itself  the  thing  that  can  heal.  For  love  can 
do  this,  I  know  it,  I  have  proved  it." 

He  raised  one  of  his  arms  with  a  queer,  spasmodic 
gesture  and  let  it  drop  as  suddenly  as  he  had  raised 
it. 

"  Love  rejoices  to  bear  everything,"  he  went  on. 
"  It  forgives  and  forgives  again.  It  serves  its  beloved 
night  and  day,  unseen  and  unfelt,  it  draws  strength 
from  suffering.  When  the  blows  of  fate  strike  it,  it 
sinks  into  its  ov<n  heart  and  rises  stronger  than  fate. 
When  the  passing  hour's  cruel  to  it,  it  sinks  away 
within,  below  the  passing  of  every  possible  hour,  beyond 
the  hurt  of  every  conceivable  stroke.  Love  does  not 
ask  anything.  It  does  not  ask  to  be  recognized.  It  is 
its  own  return,  its  own  recognition.  Listen  to  me, 
child !  If  what  I'm  saying  to  you  is  not  true,  if  love  is 
not  like  this,  then  the  whole  world  is  dust  and  ashes  and 
*  earth's  base  built  on  stubble'!" 

His  harsh  voice  died  away  on  the  air  and  for  a  little 
while  there  was  no  sound  in  that  garden  except  the  twit- 
ter of  birds,  the  hum  of  insects,  and  the  murmur  of  the 
sea.  Then  she  moved,  raised  herself  from  the  ground 
and  rubbed  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"  Thank  you,  Hamish,"  she  said. 

He  got  up  from  his  knees  and  she  rose  too  and  they 
walked  slowly  together  up  and  down  the  little  grass 
plot.  His  harsh  voice,  harsher  than  ever  when  its  pitch 
was  modulated,  rose  and  fell  monotonously  in  the  sunny 
air. 

"  I  don't  say  to  you,  Nance,  that  you  shouldn't  ex- 
pect the  worst.  I  think  we  always  should  expect  that 
and  prepare  to  meet  it.     What  I  say  is  that  in  the  very 


122  RODMOOR 


power  of  the  love  you  feci  there  is  a  strength  capable  of 
sustaining  you  through  your  whole  life,  whatever  hap- 
pens. And  it  is  out  of  this  very  strength  —  a  strength 
stronger  than  all  the  world,  my  dear  —  than  all  the 
world !  —  that  you'll  be  able  to  give  your  Adrian  what 
he  needs.  He  needs  your  love,  little  one,  not  your 
jealousy,  nor  your  self-pity,  nor  your  anger.  God 
knows  how  much  he  needs  it!  And  if  you  sink  down 
into  your  heart  and  draw  upon  that  and  wait  for  him 
and  pray  for  him  and  endure  for  him  you  will  see  how, 
in  the  end,  he'll  come  back  to  you !  No  —  I  won't  even 
say  that.  For  in  this  world  he  may  never  realize  whose 
devotion  is  sustaining  him.  I'll  say,  whether  he  comes 
back  or  not,  you'll  have  been  his  only  true  love  and  he'll 
know  it,  child,  in  this  world  or  another,  he'll  know  you 
for  what  you  are !  " 

The  sweet,  impossible  doctrine,  older  than  the  cen- 
turies, older  than  Plato,  of  the  supremacy  of  spiritual 
passion  had  never  —  certainly  not  in  that  monastic 
garden  —  found  a  more  eloquent  apologist.  As  she 
listened  to  his  words  and  her  glance  lingered  upon  a  cer- 
tain deeply  blue  border  of  larkspurs,  which,  as  they 
paced  up  and  down  mingled  with  the  impression  he  made 
upon  her,  Nance  felt  that  a  crisis  had  indeed  arrived  in 
her  life  —  had  arrived  and  gone  —  the  effect  of  which 
could  never,  whatever  happened,  altogether  disappear. 
She  was  still  unutterably  sad.  Her  new  mood  brought 
no  superficial  comfort.  But  her  sadness  had  nothing  in 
it  now  of  bitterness  or  desperation.  She  entered,  at 
any  rate  for  that  hour,  into  the  company  of  those  who 
resolutely  put  life's  sweetness  away  from  them  and  find 
in  the  accepted  pressure  of  its  sharp  sword-point  a 
pride  which  is  its  own  reward. 


PRIEST  AND  DOCTOR  123 

Tills  mood  of  hers  still  lasted  on,  when,  some  hours 
later,  she  found  herself  in  the  main  street  of  the  little 
town,  staring  with  a  half-humorous  smile  at  the  re- 
flection of  herself  in  the  bow-window  of  the  pastry- 
cook's. She  had  just  emerged  from  the  shop  adjoining 
this  one,  a  place  where  she  had  definitely  committed  her- 
self to  accept  the  post  of  "  forewoman  "  in  the  superin- 
tendence of  half  a  dozen  young  girls  who  worked  in  the 
leisurely  establishment  of  Miss  Pontifex,  "  the  only  of- 
ficial dress-maker,"  as  the  advertisement  announced, 
"  on  that  side  of  Mundham." 

She  felt  unspeakably  relieved  at  having  made  this 
plunge.  She  had  begun  to  weary  of  idleness  —  idleness 
rendered  more  bitter  by  the  misery  of  her  relations  with 
Sorio  —  and  the  independence  guaranteed  by  the 
eighteen  shillings  a  week  which  Miss  Pontifex  was  to  pay 
her  seemed  like  an  oasis  of  solid  assurance  in  a  desert 
of  ambiguities.  She  cared  nothing  for  social  prestige. 
In  that  sense  she  was  a  true  daughter  of  her  father,  the 
most  "  democratic  "  officer  in  the  British  Navy.  What 
gave  her  a  profound  satisfaction  in  the  midst  of  her 
unhappiness  was  the  thought  that  now,  without  leav- 
ing Rodmoor,  she  could,  if  Rachel's  jealousy  or  what- 
ever it  was,  became  intolerable,  secure  some  small,  sepa- 
rate lodging  for  herself  and  her  sister. 

Linda  even,  now  her  organ-playing  had  advanced  so 
far,  might  possibly  be  able  to  earn  something.  There 
were  perhaps  churches  in  INIundham  willing  to  pay  for 
such  assistance  if  the  difficulty  of  getting  over  there  on 
Sundays  when  the  trains  were  few,  could  in  some  way 
be  surmounted.  At  any  rate,  she  felt,  she  had  made  a 
move  in  the  right  direction.  For  the  present,  living  at 
Dyke  House,  she  would  be  able  to  save  every  penny  Miss 


124  RODMOOR 


Foiitifcx  gave  her,  and  the  sense  of  even  this  rela- 
tive independence  would  strengthen  her  hand  and  af- 
ford her  a  sort  of  vantage-ground  whatever  happened 
in  the  future. 

She  was  still  standing  in  front  of  the  confectioner's 
window  when  she  heard  a  well-known  voice  behind  her 
and,  turning  quickly  round,  found  herself  face  to  face 
with  Fingal  Raughty.  The  Doctor  looked  at  her  with 
tender  solicitude. 

"  Feeling  the  heat  ?  "  he  said,  retaining  her  fingers  in 
his  own  and  stroking  them  as  one  might  stroke  the  jDetals 
of  a  rare  orchid. 

She  smiled  affectionately  into  his  eyes  and  thought 
how  strange  an  irony  it  was  that  every  one,  except  the 
person  she  cared  most  for,  should  treat  her  thus  con- 
siderately. 

"  Come,"  the  Doctor  said,  "  now  I've  got  you  I'm  not 
going  to  let  you  go.  You  must  see  my  rooms !  You 
promised  you  would,  you  know." 

She  hadn't  the  heart  to  refuse  him  and  together  they 
walked  up  the  street  till  they  came  to  the  tiny  red- 
brick house  which  the  Doctor  shared  with  the  family  of  a 
Mundham  bank-clerk.  He  opened  the  door  and  led  her 
upstairs. 

"  All  this  floor  is  mine,"  he  explained.  "  There's 
where  I  see  my  patients,  and  here,"  he  led  her  into  the 
room  looking  out  on  the  street,  "  here's  my  study." 

Nance  was  for  the  moment  inclined  to  smile  at  the 
use  of  the  word  "  study  "  as  applied  to  any  room  in 
Rodmoor  High  Street,  but  when  she  looked  round  at 
walls  literally  lined  with  books  and  at  tables  and  chairs 
covered  with  books,  some  of  them  obviously  rare  and 
valuable,  she  felt  she  had  not  quite  done  justice  to  the 


PRIEST  AND  DOCTOR  12.5 

Doctor's  taste.  He  fluttered  round  her  now  with  a  liun- 
drcd  delicate  attentions,  made  her  remove  her  hat  and 
gloves  and  finally  placed  her  in  a  large  comfortable  arm- 
chair close  to  the  open  window.  lie  pulled  one  of  the 
green  blinds  down  a  little  way  to  soften  the  stream  of 
sunshine  and,  rushing  to  his  book-case,  snatched  at  a 
large  thin  volume  which  stood  with  others  of  the  same 
kind  on  the  lowest  shelf.  This  he  dusted  carefully  with 
his  sleeve  and  laid  gently  upon  her  lap. 

"  I  think  you'll  like  it,"  he  murmured.  "  It's  of  no 
value  as  an  edition,  but  it's  in  his  best  style.  I  suppose 
Miss  Doorm  has  all  the  old  masters  up  at  Dyke  House 
bound  in  morocco  and  vellum?  Or  has  she  only  county 
histories  and  maps?  " 

While  his  visitor  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  work 
in  question,  her  golden  head  bent  low  and  her  lips 
smiling,  the  doctor  began  piling  up  more  books,  one  on 
the  top  of  another,  at  her  side. 

"  Apuleius  !  —  he's  a  strange  old  fellow,  not  without 
interest,  but  you  know  him,  of  course?  Petronius  Ar- 
biter !  you  had  better  not  read  the  text  but  the  illustra- 
tions may  amuse  you.  William  Blake!  There  are 
some  drawings  here  which  have  a  certain  resemblance 
to  —  to  one  or  two  people  we  know !  Bewick !  Oh, 
you'll  enjoy  this,  if  you  don't  know  it.  I've  got  the 
other  volume,  too.  You  mustn't  look  at  all  the 
vignettes  but  some  of  them  will  please  you." 

"But  —  Fingal — "  the  girl  protested,  lifting  her 
head  from  Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock  illustrated  by  Au- 
brey Beardsley — "what  are  yon  going  to  do?  I  feel 
as  if  you  were  preparing  me  for  a  voyage.  I'd  sooner 
talk  to  you  than  look  at  any  books." 

I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,"  he  said,  throwing  at  her 


(( 


126  RODMOOR 


a  nervous  and  rather  harassed  look,  "  I  must  wash  my 

hands." 

He  hurried  precipitously  from  the  room  and  Nance, 
lifting  her  eyebrows  and  shrugging  her  shoulders,  re- 
turned to  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock." 

The  doctor's  bathroom  was  situated,  it  appeared,  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  study.  Nance  was  con- 
scious of  the  turning  of  what  sounded  like  innumerable 
taps  and  of  a  rush  of  mighty  waters. 

"  Is  the  dear  man  going  to  have  a  bath?  "  she  said  to 
herself,  glancing  at  the  clock  on  the  chimney-piece.  If 
her  conjecture  was  right.  Dr.  Raughty  took  a  long 
while  getting  ready  for  his  singularly  timed  ablution  for 
she  heard  him  running  backwards  and  forwards  in  the 
bathroom  like  a  mouse  in  a  cage.  She  uttered  a  little 
sigh  and,  laying  the  "  Rape  of  the  Lock  "  on  the  top 
of  "  Bewick,"  looked  wearily  out  of  the  window,  her 
thoughts  returning  to  Sorio  and  the  event  of  the  preced- 
ing evening. 

Quite  ten  minutes  elapsed  before  her  host  returned. 
He  returned  in  radiant  spirits  but  all  that  was  visible 
to  the  eye  as  the  result  of  his  prolonged  toilet  was  a 
certain  smoothness  in  the  lock  of  hair  which  fell  across 
his  forehead  and  a  certain  heightening  of  the  colour  of 
his  cheeks.  This  latter  change  was  obviously  produced 
by  vigorous  rubbing,  not  by  the  application  of  any 
cosmetic. 

He  drew  a  chair  close  to  her  side  and  ignored  with 
infinite  kindness  the  fact  that  his  pile  of  books  lay  un- 
touched where  he  had  placed  them. 

"  Your  neck  is  just  like  a  column  of  white  marble," 
he  said.  "  Are  your  arms  the  same  —  I  mean  are  they 
as  white  —  under  this  ?  " 


PRIEST  AND  DOCTOR  127 


Very  gently  and  using  his  hands  as  if  they  belonged 
to  someone  else,  he  began  rolling  up  the  sleeve  of  her 
summer  frock.  Nance  was  sufficiently  young  to  be 
pleased  at  his  admiration  and  sufficiently  experienced 
not  to  be  shocked  at  his  audacity.  She  let  him  turn  the 
sleeve  quite  far  back  and  smiled  sadly  to  herself  as  she 
saw  how  admirably  its  freshly  starched  material  showed 
off  the  delicacy  and  softness  of  the  arm  thus  displayed. 
She  was  not  even  surprised  or  annoyed  when  she  found 
that  the  Doctor,  having  touched  several  times  with  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  the  curve  of  her  elbow,  possessed  him- 
self of  her  hand  and  tenderly  retained  it.  She  con- 
tinued to  look  wistfully  and  dreamily  out  of  the  window, 
her  lips  smiling  but  her  heart  weary,  thinking  once  more 
what  an  ironic  and  bitter  commentary  it  was  on  the 
little  ways  of  the  world  that  amorousness  of  this  sort  — 
gentle  and  delicate  though  it  might  be  —  was  all  that 
was  offered  her  in  place  of  what  she  was  losing. 

"  You  ought  to  be  running  barefooted  and  full  of 
excellent  joy,"  the  voice  of  Dr.  Raughty  murmured, 
"  along  the  sands  to-day.  You  ought  to  be  paddling  in 
the  sea  with  your  skirts  pinned  round  youT  waist ! 
Why  don't  you  let  me  take  you  down  there?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  turning  her  face  towards  him  and 
releasing  her  fingers. 

"  I  must  get  back  now,"  she  remarked,  looking  him 
straight  in  the  eyes,  "  so  please  give  me  my  things." 

He  meekly  obeyed  her  and  she  put  on  her  hat  and 
gloves.  As  they  were  going  downstairs,  she  in  front  of 
him,  Nance  had  a  remote  consciousness  that  Dr. 
Raughty  murmured  something  in  which  she  caught 
Adrian's  name.  She  let  this  pass,  however,  and  gave 
him  her  hand  gratefully  as  he  opened  the  door  for  her. 


128  RODMOOR 


"  Mayn't  I  even  see  you  home?  "  he  asked. 

Once  more  she  shook  her  head.  She  felt  that  her 
nerves,  just  then,  had  had  enough  of  playful  tender- 
ness. 

"  Good-bye !  "  she  cried,  leaving  him  on  his  thresh- 
old. 

She  cast  a  wistful  glance  at  Baltazar's  cottage  as  she 
crossed  the  green. 

"  Oh,  Adrian,  Adrian,"  she  moaned,  "  I'd  sooner  be 
beaten  by  you  than  loved  by  all  the  rest  of  the  world !  " 

It  was  with  a  slow  and  heavy  step  that  Dr.  Raughty 
ascended  his  little  staircase  after  he  had  watched  her 
disappear.  Entering  his  room  he  approached  the  pile 
of  books  left  beside  her  chair  and  began  transporting 
them,  one  by  one,  to  their  places  in  the  shelves. 

"  A  sweet  creature,"  he  murmured  to  himself  as  he 
did  this,  "  a  sweet  creature !  May  ten  thousand  cart- 
loads of  hornified  devils  carry  that  damned  Sorio  into 
the  pit  of  Hell!" 


X 

LOW  TIDE 

NANCE  was  so  absorbed,  for  several  days  after 
this,  in  making  her  final  arrangements  with 
the  dressmaker  and  getting  into  touch  with 
the  work  required  of  her  that  she  was  able  to  keep  her 
nerves  in  quite  reasonable  control.  She  met  Sorio 
more  than  once  during  this  time  and  was  more  success- 
ful than  she  had  dared  to  hope  in  the  effort  of  sup- 
pressing her  jealous  passion.  Her  feelings  did  not  re- 
main, she  admitted  that  to  herself  sadh'  enough,  on  the 
sublime  platonic  level  indicated  by  Mr.  Traherne,  but 
as  long  as  she  made  no  overt  reference  to  Philippa  nor 
allowed  her  intercourse  with  her  friend  to  be  poisoned 
by  her  wounded  pride,  she  felt  she  had  not  departed 
far  from  the  priest's  high  doctrine. 

It  was  from  Sorio  himself,  however,  that  she  learned 
at  last  of  a  new  and  alarming  turn  of  events,  calculated 
to  upset  all  her  plans.  This  was  nothing  less  than  that 
her  fatal  presentiment  in  the  churchyard  had  fulfilled 
itself  and  that  Brand  and  Linda  were  secretly  meeting. 
Sorio  seemed  surprised  at  the  tragic  way  she  received 
this  news  and  she  was  equally  indignant  at  his  equanim- 
ity over  it.  The  thing  that  made  it  worse  to  her  was 
her  deep-rooted  suspicion  that  Rachel  Doorm  was  im- 
plicated.    Adrian  laughed  when  she  spoke  of  this. 

"  What  did  you  expect?  "  he  said.  "  Your  charming 
friend's   an   old   crony   of   the   Renshaws    and   nothing 

would  please  her  better  than  to  see  Linda  in  trouble. 

129 


130  RODMOOR 


She  probably  arranges  their  meetings  for  them.  She 
has  the  look  of  a  person  who'd  do  that." 

They  were  walking  together  along  the  Mundham  road 
when  this  conversation  took  place.  It  was  then  about 
three  o'clock  and  Nance  remembered  with  a  sudden 
sinking  of  her  heart  how  cheerfully  both  of  her  com- 
panions had  encouraged  her  to  make  this  particular 
excursion.  She  was  to  walk  with  Sorio  to  Mundham 
and  return  late  in  the  evening  by  train. 

"  I  shall  go  back,"  she  cried,  standing  still  and  look- 
ing at  him  with  wild  eyes.  "  This  is  too  horrible ! 
They  must  have  plotted  for  me  to  be  out  of  the  way. 
How  could  Linda  do  it.''  But  she's  no  more  idea  than  a 
little  bird  in  the  hedge  what  danger  she's  in." 

Sorio  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  can't  go  back  now,"  he  protested.  "  We're 
more  than  two  miles  away  from  the  bridge.  Besides, 
what's  the  use.''  You  can't  do  anything.  You  can't 
stop  it." 

Nance  looked  at  him  with  flashing  eyes. 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  mean,  Adrian.  She's 
in  danger.  Linda's  in  danger.  Of  course  I  shall  go. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  Brand." 

She  glanced  across  the  wide  expanse  of  fens.  On 
the  southern  side  of  the  road,  as  she  looked  back,  the 
park  trees  of  Oakguard  stood  out  against  the  sky  and 
nearer,  on  the  northern  side,  the  gables  of  Dyke  House 
itself  rose  above  the  bank  of  the  river. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear,"  she  cried  distractedly,  "  I 
must  get  back  to  them !  I  must !  I  must !  Look  — 
there's  our  house !  You  can  see  its  roof !  There's 
some  way  —  surely  —  without  going  right  back  to  the 
bridge.''     There  must  be  some  way.' 


j> 


LOW  TIDE  131 


She  dragged  him  to  the  side  of  tlie  road.  A  deep 
black  ditch,  bordered  by  reeds,  intersected  the  meadow 
and  beyond  this  was  the  Loon.  A  small  wooden  en- 
closure, isolated  and  forlorn,  lay  just  inside  the  field 
and  from  within  its  barrier  an  enormous  drab-coloured 
sow  surveyed  them  disconsolately,  uttering  a  lamen- 
table squeal  and  resting  its  front  feet  upon  the  lower 
bar  of  its  prison,  while  its  great,  many-nippled  belly 
swung  under  it,  plain  to  their  view.  Their  presence 
as  they  stood  in  a  low  gap  of  the  hedge  tantalized  the 
sow  and  it  uttered  more  and  more  discordant  sounds. 
It  was  like  an  angry  impersonation  of  fecundity,  mock- 
ing Nance's  agitation. 

"  Nothing  short  of  wading  up  to  your  waist,"  said 
Sorio,  surveying  the  scene,  "  would  get  you  across  that 
ditch,  and  nothing  short  of  swimming  would  get  you 
over  the  river." 

Angry  tears  came  into  Nance's  eyes.  "  I  would  do 
it,"  she  gasped,  "  I  would  do  it  if  I  were  a  man." 

Sorio  made  a  humorous  grimace  and  nodded  in  the 
direction  of  the  sow. 

"What's  your  opinion  about  it  —  eh,  my  beauty.?" 

At  that  moment  there  came  the  sound  of  a  trotting 
horse. 

"  Here's  something,"  he  added,  "  that  may  help  you 
if  you're  bent  on  going." 

They  returned  to  the  road  and  the  vehicle  soon  ap- 
proached, showing  itself,  as  it  came  near,  to  be  the 
little  pony-cart  of  Dr.  Raughty.  The  Doctor  proved, 
as  may  be  imagined,  more  than  willing  to  give  Nance 
a  lift.  She  declared  she  was  tired  but  wouldn't  ask 
him  to  take  her  further  than  the  village. 

"  I'll    take    you    wherever    you    wish,"    said    Fingal 


132  RODMOOR 


Raught}',  giving  a  nervous  little  cough  and  scrambling 
down  to  help  her  in. 

"  Ah !  I  forgot !  Excuse  me  one  minute.  Hold  the 
pony,  please.  I  promised  to  get  some  water-mint  for 
Mrs.  Sodderly." 

He  ran  hurriedly  into  the  field  and  Nance,  sitting  in 
the  cart,  looked  helplessly  at  Sorio  who,  making  a  ges- 
ture as  if  all  the  world  had  gone  mad,  proceeded  to 
stroke  the  pony's  forehead.  They  waited  patiently  and 
the  Doctor  let  them  wait.  They  could  see  him  through 
the  gap  in  the  hedge  running  hither  and  thither  and 
every  now  and  then  stooping  down  and  fumbling  in  the 
grass.  He  seemed  entirely  oblivious  of  their  discom- 
fort. 

"  This  water-mint  business,"  muttered  Sorio,  "  is 
worse  than  the  shrew-mouse  hunt.  I  suppose  he  col- 
lects groundsel  and  feverfew  for  all  the  old  women  in 
Rodmoor." 

Nance  soon  reached  the  limit  of  her  patience.  "  Dr. 
Raughty ! "  she  cried,  and  then  in  feminine  desperation, 
"  Fingal !     Fingal !  "  she  shouted. 

The  Doctor  came  hurrying  back  at  that  and  to 
Sorio's  astonishment  it  appeared  he  had  secured  his 
desired  plants.  As  he  clambered  up  into  the  little  cart 
a  delicious  aromatic  fragrance  diffused  itself  around 
Nance. 

"  I've  found  them  all  right,"  he  said.  "  They're  un- 
der my  hat.  Sorry  I've  only  got  room  for  one  of  you. 
Get  on,  Elizabeth  !  " 

They  drove  off,  Sorio  making  a  final,  Pilate-like  ges- 
ture of  complete  irresponsibility. 

"  A  noble  creature  —  that  sow,"  the  Doctor  ob- 
served, glancing  nervously  at  his  companion,  "  a  noble, 


LOW  TIDE  133 


beautiful  animal !  I  expect  it  likes  to  feed  on  water- 
melons as  well  as  any  one.  Did  you  observe  its  eye? 
Like  a  small  yellow  daisy !  A  beautiful  eye,  but  with 
something  wicked  in  it  —  didn't  you  think  so?  —  some- 
thing menacing  and  malicious." 

Nance  compelled  herself  to  smile  at  this  sally  but  her 
hands  itched  to  snatch  the  whip  and  hasten  the  pony's 
speed.  They  arrived  at  last  at  the  New  Bridge  and 
Nance  wondered  whether  the  Doctor  would  be  really 
amenable  to  her  wishes  or  whether  he  would  press  her 
to  visit  his  study  again.  But  he  drove  on  without 
a  word,  over  the  Loon,  and  westward  again  on  the 
further  side  of  it  straight  in  the  direction  of  Dyke 
House. 

As  they  drew  near  the  place  Nance's  heart  began  to 
beat  furiously  and  she  cast  about  in  her  mind  for  some 
excuse  to  prevent  her  companion  taking  her  any  fur- 
ther. He  seemed  to  read  her  thoughts  for,  with  almost 
supernatural  tact,  he  drew  up  when  they  were  within  a 
few  hundred  yards  of  the  garden  gate. 

"  I  won't  come  in  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  several  patients  to  see  before  supper  and  I  want 
to  take  Mrs.  Sodderly  her  water-mint." 

Nance  jumped  quickly  out  of  the  cart  and  thanked 
him  profusely. 

"  You're  looking  dreadfully  white,"  he  remarked,  as 
he  bade  her  good-b3'e.  "  Oh,  wait  a  moment,  I  must 
give  you  a  few  of  these." 

He  carefully  removed  his  hat  and  once  more  the  aro- 
matic odour  spread  itself  on  the  air. 

"There!"  he  said,  handing  her  two  or  three  damp- 
rooted  stems  with  purplish-green  leaves.  She  took 
them  mechanically  and  was  still  holding  them  in  her 


134  RODMOOR 


hands  when  she  arrived  with  pale  lips  and  drawn,  white 
face,  at  the  entrance  to  the  Doorm  dwelling. 

All  was  quiet  in  the  garden  and  not  a  sound  of  any 
living  thing  issued  from  the  house.  With  miserable 
uncertainty  she  advanced  to  the  door,  catching  sight, 
as  she  did  so,  of  her  own  garden  tools  left  lying  on  the 
weedy  border  and  some  newly  planted  and  now  sadly 
drooping  verbenas  fading  by  their  side.  She  blamed 
herself  even  at  that  moment  for  having,  in  her  excite- 
ment at  going  to  meet  Sorio,  forgotten  to  water  these 
things.  She  resolved  —  at  the  back  of  her  mind  — 
that  she  would  pull  up  every  weed  in  the  place  before 
she  had  done  with  it. 

Never  before  had  she  realized  the  peculiar  desolation 
of  Dyke  House.  With  its  closed  windows  and  smoke- 
less chimneys  it  looked  as  if  it  might  have  been  deserted 
for  a  hundred  years.  She  entered  and  standing  in  the 
empty  hall  listened  intently.  Not  a  sound !  Except 
for  a  remote  ticking  and  the  buzzing  of  a  blue  bottle  fly 
in  the  parlour  windows,  all  was  hushed  as  the  inside 
of  a  tomb.  There  came  over  her  as  she  stood  there 
an  indescribable  sense  of  loneliness.  She  felt  as  though 
all  the  inhabitants  of  the  earth  had  been  annihilated 
and  she  only  left  —  she  and  the  brainless  ticking  of 
clocks  in  forsaken  houses. 

She  ran  hurriedly  up  the  staircase  and  entered  the 
room  she  shared  with  Linda.  The  child's  neatly  made 
little  bed  with  the  embroidered  night-dress  cover  lying 
on  the  pillow,  struck  her  with  a  passion  of  maternal 
feeling. 

"  My  darling !  My  darling ! "  she  cried  aloud. 
"  It's  all  my  fault !     It's  all  my  fault !  " 

She  moved  to  the  window  and  looked  out.     In  a  mo- 


LOW  TIDE  135 


nient  her  hands  clasped  tightly  the  wooden  sash  and 
she  leaned  forward  with  motionless  intensity.  The  un- 
interrupted expanse  of  that  level  landscape  lent  itself 
to  her  quick  vision.  She  made  out,  clearly  and  instan- 
taneously, a  situation  that  set  her  trembling  from 
head  to  foot.  In  one  rapid  moment  she  took  it  in  and 
in  another  moment  she  was  prepared  for  swift  action. 

Moored  on  the  further  side  of  the  river  was  a  small 
boat  and  in  the  boat,  sitting  with  his  forehead  bowed 
upon  his  hands,  was  Brand  Renshaw.  His  head  was 
bare  and  the  afternoon  sun  shining  upon  it  made  it 
look  red  as  blood.  On  the  further  side  of  the  Mund- 
ham  road  —  the  very  road  she  had  so  recently  traversed 
—  she  could  see  the  figure  of  a  girl,  unmistakably  her 
sister  —  advancing  quickly  and  furtively  towards  the 
shelter  of  a  thin  line  of  pine  trees,  the  most  western 
extremity  of  the  Oakguard  woods.  The  man  in  the 
boat  could  see  nothing  of  this.  Even  if  he  rose  to  his 
feet  he  could  see  nothing.  The  river  bank  was  too 
high.  For  the  same  reason  the  girl  crossing  the  fields 
could  see  nothing  of  the  man  in  the  boat.  Nance  alone, 
from  her  position  at  the  window,  was  in  complete  com- 
mand of  both  of  them.  She  drew  back  a  little  into  the 
room  lest  by  chance  Brand  should  look  up  and  catch 
sight  of  her.  What  a  fortunate  thing  she  had  entered 
so  quietly !  They  were  taking  every  precaution,  these 
two  !  The  man  was  evidently  intending  to  remain  where 
he  was  till  the  girl  was  well  concealed  among  the  trees. 
Rachel  Doorm,  it  seemed,  had  taken  herself  off  to  leave 
them  to  their  own  devices  but  it  was  clear  that  Brand 
preferred  an  assignation  in  his  own  park  to  risking  an 
entrance  to  Dyke  House  in  the  absence  of  its  mistress. 
For  that,  at  any  rate,  Nance  was  devoutly  thankful. 


136  RODMOOR 


Watchiiiff  Linda's  movements  until  she  saw  her  dis- 
appear  beneath  the  pines,  Nance  hurried  down  the 
stairs  and  out  into  the  garden.  She  realized  clearly 
what  she  had  to  do.  She  had  to  make  her  way  to  her 
sister  before  Brand  got  wind  she  was  there  at  all. 

She  knew  enough  of  the  Renshaw  family  to  know  that 
if  she  were  to  call  out  to  him  across  the  river  he  would 
simply  laugh  at  her.  On  the  other  hand  if  he  got  the 
least  idea  she  were  so  near  he  would  anticipate  events 
and  hasten  off  at  once  to  Linda. 

But  how  on  earth  could  she  herself  reach  the  girl? 
The  Loon  flowed  mercilessly  between  them.  One  thing 
she  had  not  failed  to  remark  as  she  looked  at  Brand  in 
his  little  sea  boat  and  that  was  that  the  tide  was  now 
running  very  low.  Sorio  had  been  either  mistaken  or 
treacherous  when  he  assured  her  it  was  at  its  height. 
It  must  have  been  falling  even  then. 

She  let  herself  noiselessly  out  of  the  gate  and  stood 
for  a  moment  contemplating  the  river  bank.  No, 
Brand  could  not  possibly  see  her.  Without  further 
hesitation  she  left  the  path  and  moved  cautiously, 
ankle-deep  in  grass,  to  where  the  Loon  made  a  sharp 
turn  to  the  left.  She  had  a  momentary  panic  as  she 
crawled  on  hands  and  knees  up  the  embankment.  No, 
even  here,  as  long  as  she  did  not  stand  upright,  she  was 
invisible  from  the  boat.  Descending  on  the  further 
side  she  slipped  down  to  the  brink  of  the  river.  The 
Loon  was  low  indeed.  Only  a  narrow  strip  of  rapidly 
moving  water  flowed  in  the  centre  of  the  channel.  On 
either  side,  glittering  in  the  sun,  sloped  slimy  banks  of 
mud. 

Her  face  was  flushed  now  and  through  her  parted 
lips  the  breath  came  heavily,  in  excited  gasps. 


LOW  TIDE  137 


"  Linda  —  little  Linda !  "  she  murmured,  "  it's  my 
fault  — all  my  fault!" 

With  one  nervous  look  at  the  river  she  sank  down  on 
the  sun-baked  mud  and  took  off  her  shoes  and  stock- 
ings. Then,  thrusting  the  stockings  inside  the  shoes 
and  tying  the  laces  of  these  latter  together,  she  pulled 
up  her  skirts  and  secured  them  round  her  waist.  As 
she  did  this  she  peered  apprehensively  round  her.  But 
she  was  quite  alone  and  with  another  shuddering  glance 
at  the  tide  she  picked  up  her  shoes  and  began  advancing 
into  the  slippery  mud.  She  staggered  a  little  at  first 
and  her  feet  sank  deep  into  the  slime  but  as  soon  as  she 
was  actually  in  the  water  she  walked  more  easily,  feel- 
ing a  surer  footing.  The  Loon  swirled  by  her,  sending 
a  chill  of  cold  through  her  bare  white  limbs.  The 
water  was  soon  high  above  her  knees  and  she  was  hardly 
a  quarter  of  the  way  across  !  Her  heart  beat  miserably 
now  and  the  flush  died  from  her  cheeks.  It  came  across 
her  mind  like  an  ice-cold  hand  upon  her  throat,  how 
dreadful  it  would  be  to  be  swept  off  her  feet  and  carried 
down  that  tide  —  down  to  the  Rodmoor  harbour  and 
out  to  sea  —  dead  and  tangled  in  weeds  —  with  wide- 
open  staring  eyes  and  the  water  pouring  in  and  out 
of  her  mouth.  Nothing  short  of  her  desperate  ma- 
ternal instinct,  intensified  to  frenzy  by  the  thought 
that  she  was  responsible  for  Linda's  danger,  could  have 
impelled  her  to  press  on.  The  tide  was  up  to  her  waist 
now  and  all  her  clothes  were  drenched  but  still  she  had 
not  reached  the  middle  of  the  current. 

It  was  when,  taking  a  step  further,  she  sank  as  deep 
as  her  arm-pits,  that  she  wavered  in  earnest  and  a  ter- 
rible temptation  took  her  to  turn  and  give  it  up. 

"  Perhaps,  after  all,"  she  thought,  "  Brand  has  no 


138  RODMOOR 


evil  intentions.  Perhaps  —  who  can  tell  ?  —  he  is  gen- 
uinely in  love  with  her." 

But  even  as  she  hesitated,  looking  with  white  face 
up  and  down  the  swirling  stream,  she  knew  that  this 
reasoning  was  treacherous.  She  had  heard  nothing 
but  evil  of  Brand's  ways  with  women  ever  since  she  came 
to  Rodraoor.  And  why  should  he  treat  her  sister  bet- 
ter than  the  rest? 

Suddenly,  without  any  effort  of  her  own,  she  seemed 
to  visualize  with  extraordinary  clearness  a  certain  look 
with  which,  long  ago,  when  she  was  quite  a  child,  Linda 
had  appealed  to  her  for  protection.  A  passion  of  ma- 
ternal remorse  made  her  heart  suddenly  strong  and 
she  plunged  recklessly  forward.  For  one  moment  she 
lost  her  footing  and  in  the  struggle  to  recover  herself 
the  tide  swept  over  her  shoulders.  But  that  was  the 
worst.  After  that  she  waded  steadily  forward  till  she 
reached  the  further  side. 

Dripping  from  head  to  foot  she  pulled  on  her  shoes, 
wrung  as  much  of  the  water  as  she  could  out  of  her 
drenched  skirts  and  shook  them  down  over  her  knees. 
Then  she  scrambled  up  the  bank,  glanced  round  to  make 
certain  she  was  still  unseen  and  set  off  through  the  fields. 
She  could  not  help  smiling  to  herself  when  she  reached 
the  Mundham  high-road  and  fled  quickly  across  it  to 
think  how  amazed  Sorio  would  have  been  had  he  seen 
her  just  then!  But  neither  Sorio  nor  any  one  else 
was  in  sight  and  leaving  behind  her  the  trail  of  wet 
shoes  in  the  hot  road  dust,  she  ran,  more  rapidly  than 
ever,  towards  the  group  of  ancient  and  dark-stemmed 
pines,  into  the  shadow  of  which  she  had  seen  her  sister 
vanish. 


XI 

THE  SISTERS 

LINDA  was  so  astounded  that  she  could  hardly 
repress  a  scream  when,  as  she  sat  with  her  back 
against  a  tree  on  a  carpet  of  pine-needles, 
Nance  suddenly  appeared  before  her  breathless  with 
running.  It  was  some  moments  before  the  elder  girl 
could  recover  her  speech.  She  seized  her  sister  by  the 
shoulders  and  held  her  at  arms'  length,  looking  wildly 
into  her  face  and  panting  as  she  struggled  to  find  words. 
"  I  waded,"  she  gasped,  "  across  the  Loon  —  to  get  to 
you.     Oh,  Linda!     Oh,  Linda!" 

A  deep  flush  appeared  in  the  younger  sister's  cheeks 
and  spread  itself  over  her  neck.  She  gazed  at  Nance 
with  great  terrified  eyes. 

"  Across  the  river  — "  she  began,  and  let  the  words 
die  away  on  her  lips  as  she  realized  what  this  meant. 

"  But  you're  wet  through  —  wet  through  !  "  she  cried. 
*'  Here !     You  must  wear  something  of  mine." 

With  trembling  fingers  she  loosened  her  own  dress, 
hurriedly  slipped  out  of  her  skirt,  flung  it  aside  and 
began  to  fumble  at  Nance's  garments.  With  little 
cries  of  horror  as  she  found  how  completely  drenched 
her  sister  was,  she  pulled  her  into  the  deeper  shadow  of 
the  trees  and  forced  her  to  take  off  everything. 

"  How    beautiful    you    look,    my    dear,"    she    cried, 

searching  as  a  child  might  have  done  for  any  excuse  to 

delay  the  impending  judgment.     Nance,  even  in  the  re- 

139 


140  RODMOOR 


action  from  her  anxiety,  could  not  be  quite  indifferent 
to  the  naivete  of  this  appeal  and  she  found  herself  ac- 
tually laughing  presently  as  with  her  arms  stretched 
liigh  above  her  head  and  her  fingers  clinging  to  a 
resinous  pine  branch,  she  let  her  sister  chafe  her  body 
back  to  warmth. 

"  Look !  I'll  finish  you  off  with  ferns !  "  cried  the 
younger  girl,  and  plucking  a  handful  of  new-grown 
bracken  she  began  rubbing  her  vigorously  with  its  sweet- 
scented  fronds. 

"  Oh,  you  do  look  lovely !  "  she  cried  once  more,  sur- 
veying her  from  head  to  foot.  "  Do  let  me  take  down 
your  hair !     You'd  look  like  —  oh,  I  don't  know  what !  " 

"  I  wish  Adrian  could  see  you,"  she  added.  This 
last  remark  was  a  most  unlucky  blunder  on  Linda's 
part.  It  had  two  unfortunate  effects.  It  brought 
back  to  Nance's  mind  her  own  deep-rooted  trouble  and 
it  restored  all  her  recent  dread  as  to  her  sister's  des- 
tiny. 

"  Give  me  something  to  put  on,"  she  said  sharply. 
"  We  must  be  getting  away  from  here." 

Linda  promptly  stripped  herself  of  yet  more  gar- 
ments and  after  a  friendly  contest  as  to  which  of  them 
should  wear  the  dry  skirt  they  were  ready  to  emerge 
from  their  hiding-place.  Nance  fancied  that  all  her 
difficulties  for  that  day  were  over.  She  was  never  more 
mistaken. 

They  had  advanced  about  half  a  mile  towards  the 
park,  keeping  tacitly  within  the  shadow  of  the  pines 
when  suddenly  Linda,  who  was  carrying  her  sister's 
wet  clothes,  dropped  the  bundle  with  a  quick  cry  and 
stood,  stone-still,  gazing  across  the  fields.  Nance 
looked  in  the  direction  of  her  gaze  and  understood  in 


THE  STSTEKS  141 

a  moment  what  was  the  matter.  There,  walking  hastily 
towards  the  spot  they  had  recently  quitted  —  was  the 
figure  of  a  man. 

Evidently  this  was  the  appointed  hour  and  Brand 
was  keeping  his  tryst.  Nance  seized  her  sister's  hand 
and  pulled  her  back  into  the  shadow.  Linda's  eyes  had 
grown  large  and  bright.  She  struggled  to  release  her- 
self. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Nance.''"  she  cried.  "Let 
me  go!     Don't  you  see  he  wants  me?  " 

The  elder  sister's  grasp  tightened. 

"  ]My  dear,  my  dear,"  she  pleaded,  "  this  is  madness ! 
Linda,  Linda,  my  darling,  listen  to  me.  I  can't  let  you 
go  on  with  this.  You've  no  idea  what  it  means. 
You've  no  idea  what  sort  of  a  man  that  is." 

The  young  girl  only  struggled  the  more  violently  to 
free  herself.  She  was  like  a  thing  possessed.  Her 
eyes  glittered  and  her  lips  trembled.  A  deep  red  spot 
appeared  on  each  of  her  checks. 

"  Linda,  child  !  My  own  Linda  !  "  cried  Nance,  des- 
perately snatching  at  the  girl's  other  wrist  and  lean- 
ing back,  panting  against  the  trunk  of  a  pine. 

"  What  has  come  to  you  ?  I  don't  know  3'ou  like 
this.     I  can't,  I  can't  let  you  go." 

"  He  wants  me,"  the  girl  repeated,  still  making  fran- 
tic efforts  to  release  herself.  "  I  tell  you  he  wants  me! 
He'll  hate  me  if  I  don't  go  to  him." 

Her  fragile  arms  seemed  endowed  with  supernatural 
strength.  She  wrenched  one  wrist  free  and  tore  des- 
perately at  the  hand  that  held  the  other. 

"  Linda  !  Linda  !  "  her  sister  wailed,  "  are  you  out 
of  your  mind?  " 

The  unhappy  child  actually  succeeded  at  last  in  free- 


142  RODMOOR 


ing  herself  and  sprang  away  towards  the  open.  Nance 
flung  herself  after  her  and,  seizing  her  in  her  arms,  half- 
dragged  her,  half-carried  her,  back  to  where  the  trees 
grew  thick.  But  even  there  the  struggle  continued. 
The  girl  kept  gasping  out,  "  He  loves  me,  I  tell  you ! 
He  loves  me !  "  and  with  every  repetition  of  this  cry 
she  fought  fiercely  to  extricate  herself  from  the  other's 
embrace.  While  this  went  on  the  wind,  which  had  been 
gusty  all  the  afternoon,  began  to  increase  in  violence, 
blowing  from  the  north  and  making  the  branches  of  the 
pines  creak  and  mutter  over  their  heads.  A  heavy 
bank  of  clouds  covered  the  sun  and  the  air  grew  colder. 
Nance  felt  her  strength  weakening.  Was  fate  indeed 
going  to  compel  her  to  give  up,  after  all  she  had  en- 
dured.'' 

She  twined  her  arms  round  her  sister's  body  and  the 
two  girls  swayed  back  and  forwards  over  the  dry,  sweet- 
scented  pine-needles.  Their  scantily-clothed  limbs  were 
locked  tightly  together  and,  as  they  struggled,  their 
breasts  heaved  and  their  hearts  beat  in  desperate  reci- 
procity. 

"  Let  me  go  !  I  hate  you  !  I  hate  you  !  "  gasped 
Linda,  and  at  that  moment,  stumbling  over  a  moss- 
covered  root,  they  fell  together  on  the  ground. 

The  shock  of  the  fall  and  the  strain  of  the  struggle 
threw  the  younger  girl  into  something  like  a  fit  of 
hysteria.  She  began  screaming  and  Nance,  fearful 
lest  the  sound  should  reach  Brand's  ears,  put  her  hand 
over  the  child's  mouth.  The  precaution  was  unneces- 
sary. The  wind  had  increased  now  to  such  a  pitch 
that  through  the  moaning  branches  and  rustling  foliage 
nothing  could  be  heard  outside  the  limits  of  the  wood. 

"  I  hate  you !     I  hate  you !  "  shrieked  Linda,  biting 


THE  SISTERS 143 

in  her  frenzy  at  the  hand  which  was  pressed  against  her 
mouth.      Nance's  nerves  had  reached  the  breaking  point. 

"  Won't  you  help  me,  God?  "  she  cried  out. 

Suddenly  Linda's  violence  subsided.  Two  or  three 
shuddering  spasms  passed  through  her  body  and  her 
lips  turned  white.  Nance  released  her  hold  and  rose 
to  her  feet.  The  child's  head  fell  back  upon  the  ground 
and  her  eyes  closed.  Nance  watched  her  with  fearful 
apprehension.  Had  she  hurt  her  heart  in  their  strug- 
gle? Was  she  dying?  But  the  girl  did  not  even  lose 
consciousness.  She  remained  perfectly  still  for  several 
minutes  and  then,  opening  her  eyes,  threw  upon  her  sis- 
ter a  look  of  tragic  reproach. 

"  You've  won,"  she  whispered  faintl3\  "  You're  too 
strong  for  me.  But  I'll  never  forgive  you  for  this  — 
never  —  never  —  never  !  " 

Once  more  she  closed  her  eyes  and  lay  still.  Nance, 
kneeling  by  her  side,  tried  to  take  one  of  her  hands 
but  the  girl  drew  it  away. 

"  Yes,  you've  won,"  she  repeated,  fixing  upon  her  sis- 
ter's face  a  look  of  helpless  hatred.  "  And  shall  I  tell 
you  why  you've  done  this  ?  Shall  I  tell  you  w  hy  you've 
stopped  my  going  to  him?  "  she  went  on,  in  a  low  ex- 
hausted voice.  "  You've  done  it  because  you're  jealous 
of  me,  because  you  can't  make  Adrian  love  you  as  you 
want,  because  Adrian's  got  so  fond  of  Philippa !  You 
can't  bear  the  idea  of  Brand  loving  me  as  he  does  — 
so  much  more  than  Adrian  loves  >'ou !  " 

Nance  stared  at  her  aghast.  "  Oh,  Linda,  my  little 
Linda !  "  she  whispered,  "  how  can  you  say  these  terri- 
ble things?     My  only  thought,  all  the  time,  is  for  you." 

Linda  struggled  feebly  to  her  feet,  refusing  her  sis- 
ter's help. 


144  RODMOOR 


"  I  can  walk,"  she  said,  and  then,  with  a  bitterness 
that  seemed  to  poison  the  air  between  them,  "  you 
needn't  be  afraid  of  my  escaping  from  you.  He 
wouldn't  like  me  now,  you've  hurt  me  and  made  me 

ugly." 

Nance  picked  up  her  bundle  of  mud-stained  clothes. 
The  smell  of  the  river  which  still  clung  to  them  gave 
her  a  sense  of  nausea. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  we'll  follow  the  park  wall." 

They  moved  off  slowly  together  without  further 
speech  and  never  did  any  hour,  in  either  of  their  lives, 
pass  more  miserably.  As  they  came  within  sight  of 
Oakguard,  Linda  looked  so  white  and  exhausted  that 
Nance  was  on  the  point  of  taking  her  boldly  in  and 
begging  Mrs.  Renshaw's  help,  but  somehow  the  thought 
of  meeting  Philippa  just  at  that  moment  was  more  than 
she  was  able  to  endure,  and  they  dragged  on  towards 
the  village. 

Emerging  from  the  park  gates  and  coming  upon  the 
entrance  to  the  green,  Nance  became  aware  that  it 
would  be  out  of  the  question  to  make  Linda  walk  any 
further  and,  after  a  second's  hesitation,  she  led  her 
across  the  grass  and  under  the  sycamores  to  Baltazar's 
cottage. 

The  door  was  opened  by  Mr.  Stork  himself.  He 
started  back  in  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  their  two 
figures  pale  and  shivering  in  the  wind.  He  led  them 
into  his  sitting-room  and  at  once  proceeded  to  light  the 
fire.  He  wrapped  warm  rugs  round  them  both  and 
made  them  some  tea.  All  this  he  did  without  asking 
them  any  questions,  treating  the  whole  affair  as  if  it 
were  a  thing  of  quite  natural  occurrence.  The  warmth 
of  the  fire  and  the  pleasant  taste  of  the  epicure's  tea 


THE  SISTERS 145 

restored  Nance,  at  any  rate,  to  some  degree  of  com- 
fort. She  explained  that  they  had  walked  too  far  and 
that  she  had  tried  to  cross  the  river  to  get  help  for  her 
sister.  Linda  said  hardly  anything  but  gazed  despair- 
ingly at  the  picture  of  the  Ambassador's  secretary. 
The  young  Venetian  seemed  to  answer  her  look  and 
Baltazar,  always  avid  of  these  occult  sympathies, 
watched  this  spiritual  encounter  with  sly  amusement. 
He  had  wrapped  an  especially  brilliant  oriental  rug 
round  the  younger  girl  and  the  contrast  between  its 
rich  colours  and  the  fragile  beauty  of  the  face  above 
them  struck  him  very  pleasantly. 

In  his  heart  he  shrewdly  guessed  that  some  trouble 
connected  with  Brand  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  and  the 
suspicion  that  she  had  been  interfering  with  her  sister's 
love  affair  did  not  diminish  the  prejudice  he  had  already 
begun  to  cherish  against  Nance.  Stork  was  consti- 
tutionally immune  from  susceptibility  to  feminine 
charm  and  the  natural  little  jests  and  gaieties 
with  which  the  poor  girl  tried  to  "  carry  off  "  a  suffi- 
ciently embarrassing  situation  only  irritated  him  the 
more. 

"  Why  must  they  always  play  their  tricks  and  be 
pretty  and  witty.''"  he  thought.  "Except  when  one 
wants  to  make  love  to  them  they  ought  to  sit  still." 
And  with  a  malicious  desire  to  annoy  Nance  he  began 
making  much  of  Linda,  persuading  her  to  lie  down  on 
the  sofa  and  wrapping  an  exquisite  cashmere  shawl 
round  her  feet. 

To  test  the  truth  of  his  surmise  as  to  the  cause  of 
their  predicament,  he  unexpectedly  brought  in  Brand's 
name. 

"  Our  friend  Adrian,"  he  remarked,  "  refuses  to  al- 


146  RODMOOR 


low  that  Mr.  Renshaw's  a  handsome  man.  What  do 
you  ladies  think  about  that  ?  " 

His  device  met  with  instant  success.  Linda  turned 
crimson  and  Nance  made  a  gesture  as  if  to  stop  him. 

"  Ha  !  Ha  !  "  he  laughed  to  himself,  "  so  that's  how 
the  wind  blows.  Our  little  sister  must  be  allowed  no 
kind  of  fun,  though  we  ourselves  may  flirt  with  the 
whole  village." 

He  continued  to  pay  innumerable  attentions  to  Linda. 
Professing  that  he  wished  to  tell  her  fortune  he  drew 
his  chair  to  her  side  and  began  a  long  rigamarole  about 
heart  lines  and  life  lines  and  dark  men  and  fair  men. 
Nance  simply  moved  closer  to  the  fire  while  this  went 
on  and  warmed  her  hands  at  its  blaze. 

"  I  must  ask  him  to  fetch  us  a  trap  from  the  Inn," 
she  thought.  "  I  wish  Adrian  would  come.  I  wonder 
if  he  will,  before  we  go." 

Partly  by  reason  of  the  fact  that  he  had  himself 
arranged  her  drapery  and  partly  because  of  a  touch 
of  something  in  the  child's  face  which  reminded  him  of 
certain  pictures  of  Pintericchio,  Baltazar  began  to  feel 
tenderer  towards  Linda  than  he  had  done  for  years 
towards  any  feminine  creature.  This  amused  him  im- 
mensely and  he  gave  the  tenuous  emotion  full  rein.  But 
it  irritated  him'  that  he  couldn't  really  vex  his  little 
protege's  sister. 

"  I  expect,"  he  said,  replacing  Linda's  white  fingers 
upon  the  scarlet  rug,  "  I  expect.  Miss  Herrick,  you're 
beginning  to  feel  the  effects  of  our  peculiar  society. 
Yes,  that's  my  Venetian  boy,  Flambard  " —  this  was  ad- 
dressed to  Linda — "isn't  he  delicious?  Wouldn't  you 
like  to  have  him  for  a  lover?  —  for  Rodmoor  is  a  rather 
curious  place.     It's  a  disintegrating  place,  you  know, 


THE  SISTERS  147 

a  place  where  one  loses  one's  identity  und  forgets  the 
rules.  Of  course  it  suits  me  admirably  because  I  never 
consider  rules,  but  you  —  I  should  think  —  must  find 
it  somewhat  disturbing?  Fingal  maintains  there's  a 
definite  physiological  cause  for  the  way  people  behave 
here.  For  we  all  behave  very  badly,  you  know.  Miss 
Herrick.  He  says  it's  the  effect  of  the  North  Sea.  He 
says  all  the  old  families  that  live  by  the  North  Sea  get 
queer  in  time, —  take  to  drink,  I  mean,  or  something  of 
that  sort.  It's  an  interesting  idea,  isn't  it?  But  I 
suppose  that  sort  of  thing  doesn't  appeal  to  you?  You 
take  —  what  do  you  call  it?  —  a  more  serious  view  of 
life." 

Nance  turned  round  towards  him  wearily. 

"  If  Adrian  doesn't  come  in  a  minute  or  two,"  she 
thought,  "  I  shall  ask  him  to  get  a  trap  for  us,  or  I 
shall  go  to  Dr.  Raughty." 

"  It's  an  odd  thing,"  Baltazar  continued,  lighting 
a  cigarette  and  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  "  how 
quickly  I  know  whether  people  are  serious  or  not.  It 
must  be  something  in  their  faces.  Linda,  now  " —  he 
looked  caressingly  at  the  figure  on  the  sofa  — "  is  ob- 
viously never  serious.  She's  like  me.  I  saw  that  in 
her  hand.  She's  destined  to  go  through  life  as  I  do, 
playing  on  the  surface  like  a  dragon-fly  on  a  pond." 

The  young  girl  answered  his  look  with  a  soft  but 
rather  puzzled  smile,  and  once  more  he  sat  down  by  her 
side  and  renewed  his  fortune-telling.  His  fingers,  as  he 
held  her  hand,  looked  almost  as  slender  as  her  own  and 
his  face,  as  Nance  saw  it  in  profile,  had  a  subtle  delicacy 
of  outline  that  made  her  think  of  Philippa.  There  was, 
to  the  mind  of  the  elder  girl,  a  refined  inhumanity  about 
every  gesture  he  made  and  every  word  he  spoke  which 


148  RODMOOR 


filled  her  with  aversion.  The  contours  of  his  face  were 
exquisitely  moulded  and  his  round  small  head  covered 
with  tight  fair  curls  was  supported  on  a  neck  as  soft 
and  white  as  a  woman's ;  but  his  eyes,  coloured  like 
some  glaucous  sea  plant,  were  to  the  girl's  thinking 
extraordinarily  sinister.  She  could  not  help  a  swift 
mental  comparison  between  Baltazar's  attitude  as  he 
leaned  over  Linda  and  that  of  Dr.  Raughty  when, 
on  various  occasions,  that  honest  man  had  made  play- 
ful love  to  herself.  It  was  hard  to  define  the  difference 
but,  as  she  watched  Baltazar  she  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  was  a  soul  of  genuine  affectionateness  in  the 
doctor's  amorous  advances  which  made  them  harmless 
as  compared  with  this  other's. 

Linda,  however,  was  evidently  very  pleased  and  flat- 
tered. She  lay  with  her  head  thrown  back  and  a  smile 
of  languid  contentment.  She  did  not  even  make  an 
attempt  to  draw  away  her  hand  when  the  fortune-telling 
was  over.  Nance  resolved  that  she  would  wait  five  min- 
utes more  by  their  host's  elegant  French  time-piece  and 
then,  if  Adrian  had  not  come,  she  would  make  Mr.  Stork 
fetch  them  a  conveyance.  It  came  over  her  that  there 
was  something  morbid  and  subtly  unnatural  about  the 
way  Baltazar  was  treating  Linda  and  yet  she  could 
not  put  her  finger  upon  what  was  wrong.  She  felt, 
however,  by  a  profound  instinct,  an  instinct  which  she 
could  not  analyse,  that  nothing  that  Brand  Renshaw 
could  possibly  do  —  even  were  he  the  unscrupulous  se- 
ducer she  suspected  him  of  being  —  could  be  as  dan- 
gerous for  the  peace  of  her  sister's  mind  as  what  she 
was  now  undergoing.  With  Brand  there  was  quite 
simply  a  strong  magnetic  attraction,  formidable  and 
overpowering,   and  that  was   all,  but   she  trembled  to 


THE  SISTERS  149 

think  what  elements  of  complicated  morbidity  Baltazar's 
overtures  were  capable  of  arousing. 

"  Look,"  he  said  presently,  "  Flambard's  watching 
us!  I  believe  he's  jealous  of  me  because  of  you,  or  of 
you  because  of  me.  I  don't  believe  he's  ever  seen  any 
one  so  near  being  his  rival  as  you  are !  I  think  you 
must  have  something  in  you  that  he  understands.  Per- 
haps you're  a  re-incarnation  of  one  of  his  Venetians ! 
Don't  you  think,  Miss  Herrick,"  and  he  turned  urbanely 
to  Nance,  "  she's  got  something  that  suggests  Venice 
in  her  as  she  lies  there  —  with  that  smile.''" 

The  languorous  glance  of  secret  triumph  which  Linda 
at  that  moment  threw  upon  her  sister  was  more  than 
Nance  could  endure. 

"  Do  you  mind  getting  us  a  trap  of  some  sort  at  the 
Admiral's  Head.''  "  she  said  brusquely,  rising  from  her 
seat. 

Baltazar  assented  at  once  with  courteous  and  even 
effusive  politeness  and  left  the  room.  As  soon  as  he 
was  gone,  Nance  moved  to  Linda's  side. 

"  Little  one,"  she  said,  with  trembling  lips,  "  I  seem 
not  to  know  you  to-day.     You're  not  my  Linda  at  all." 

The  child's  face  stiffened  spasmodically  and  her  whole 
expression  hardened.  She  fixed  her  gaze  on  the  am- 
biguous Flambard  and  made  no  answer. 

"  Linda,  darling  —  I'm  only  thinking  all  the  time  of 
you,"  pleaded  Nance,  putting  out  her  hand. 

A  gleam  of  positive  hatred  illuminated  the  child's 
eyes.  She  suddenly  snatched  at  the  proffered  hand 
and  surveyed  it  vindictively. 

"  I  can  see  where  I  bit  you  just  now.  I'm  glad  I 
did !  "  she  cried,  and  once  more  she  set  herself  to  stare 
at  Flambard. 


150  RODMOOR 


Nance  went  over  to  the  fire-place  and  sat  down.  But 
something  seemed  to  impel  Linda  to  strike  her  again. 

"  You  thought  you  were  going  to  have  every  one  in 
Rodmoor  to  yourself,  didn't  you?  "  she  said.  "  You 
thought  you'd  have  Adrian  and  Dr.  Raughty  and  Mr. 
Traherne  and  everybody.  You  never  thought  any  one 
would  begin  liking  me  !  " 

Nance  looked  at  her  in  sheer  terrified  astonishment. 
•Certainly  the  influence  of  Baltazar  was  making  itself 
felt. 

"  You  brought  me  here,"  Linda  went  on.  "  I  didn't 
want  to  come  and  you  knew  I  didri't.  Now  —  as  he 
says,  we  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

The  phrase  "  and  you  knew  I  didn't "  went  through 
Nance's  heart  like  a  poisoned  dagger.  Yes,  she  had 
]{nown !  She  had  tried  to  put  the  thing  far  from  her 
—  to  throw  the  responsibility  for  it  upon  her  reluctance 
to  hurt  Rachel.  But  she  had  known.  And  now  her 
punishment  was  beginning.  She  bowed  her  head  upon 
her  hands  and  covered  her  face. 

"  You  came,"  the  girl's  voice  went  on,  "  because  you 
hated  leaving  Adrian.  But  Adrian  doesn't  want  you 
any  more  now.  He  wants  Philippa.  Do  you  know, 
Nance,  I  believe  he'd  marry  Philippa,  if  he  could  —  if 
Brand  would  let  him !  " 

The  hands  that  hid  Nance's  face  trembled.  She 
longed  to  run  away  and  sob  her  heart  out.  She  had 
thought  she  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  possible  misery. 
She  had  never  expected  this.  Linda,  as  if  drawing 
inspiration  for  the  suffering  she  inflicted,  continued  to 
look  Flambard  in  the  eyes. 

"  Brand  told  me  Philippa  meets  Adrian  every  night 
in  the  park.     He  said  he  spied  on  them  once  and  found 


THE  SISTERS 151 

them  kissing  each  other.  He  said  they  were  leaning 
against  one  of  the  oak  trees  and  Adrian  bent  her  head 
back  against  the  trunk  and  kissed  her  like  that.  He 
showed  me  just  how  he  did  it.  And  he  made  me  laugh 
like  anything  afterwards  by  something  else  he  said. 
But  I  don't  think  I'll  tell  you  that  —  unless  you  want 
to  hear  very  much  —     Do  you  want  to  hear?  " 

Nance,  at  this  moment,  lifted  up  her  head.  She  had 
a  look  in  her  eyes  that  nothing  except  the  inexhaustible 
pitilessness  of  a  woman  thwarted  in  her  passion  could 
have  endured  without  being  melted. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  kill  me,  Linda?  "  she  murmured. 

Her  sister  gave  her  one  quick  glance  and  looked 
away  again  at  Flambard.  She  remained  silent  after 
that,  wliile  the  French  clock  ticked  out  the  seconds 
with  a  jocular  malignity. 

The  wind,  rising  steadily,  swept  large  drops  of  rain 
against  the  window  and  the  noise  of  the  waves  which  it 
brought  with  it  sounded  louder  and  clearer  than  before 
as  if  the  sea  itself  had  advanced  several  leagues  across 
the  land  since  first  they  entered  the  house. 


XII 

HAMISH  TRAHERNE 

NANCE  said  nothing  to  Rachel  Doorm  on  the 
night  they  returned,  driven  home  by  the  land- 
lord of  the  Admiral's  Head.  What  Rachel 
feared,  or  what  she  imagined,  as  the  sisters  entered  the 
house  in  their  thin  attire  carrying  the  bundle  of 
drenched  clothes,  it  was  impossible  to  surmise.  She 
occupied  herself  with  lighting  a  fire  in  their  room  and 
while  they  undressed  she  brought  them  up  their  sup- 
per with  her  own  hands.  It  was  a  wretched  night  for 
both  of  the  sisters  and  few  were  the  words  exchanged 
between  them  as  they  ate  their  meal.  Once  in  bed  and 
the  light  extinguished,  it  was  Nance,  in  spite  of  all,  who 
fell  asleep  first.  "  The  pangs  of  despised  love  "  have 
not  the  same  corrosive  poison  as  the  sting  of  passion 
embittered  by  rancour. 

Nance  was  up  early  and  took  her  breakfast  alone. 
She  felt  an  irresistible  need  to  see  Mr.  Traherne.  She 
arrived  at  the  priest's  house  almost  as  early  as  she  had 
done  on  a  former  occasion,  only  this  time,  the  day  be- 
ing overcast  and  the  wind  high,  he  received  her  within- 
doors. She  found  him  reading  "  Don  Quixote  "  and, 
without  giving  her  time  to  speak,  he  made  her  listen 
to  the  gentle  and  magnanimous  story  of  the  poor 
knight's  death. 

"  There's  no  book,"  he  said,  when  he  had  finished, 

"  which  so  recovers  my  spirits  as  this  one.     Cervantes 

152 


HAMISTI  TRAHERNE  lo3 


is  the  noblest  soul  of  them  all  and  the  bravest.  He's 
the  only  author  who  never  gives  up  his  humility  before 
God  or  his  pride  before  the  Universe.  He's  the  author 
for  me !     He's  the  author  for  us  poor  priests  !  " 

Mr.  Traherne  lit  a  cigarette  and  looked  at  Nance 
through  its  smoke  with  a  grotesque  scowl  of  infinite 
reassurance. 

"  Cheer  up,  little  one !  "  he  said,  "  the  spirit  of  the 
great  Cervantes  is  not  dead  in  the  world.  God  has 
not  deserted  us.  Nothing  can  hurt  us  while  we  hold 
to  Christ  and  defy  the  Devil !  " 

Nance  smiled  at  him.  The  conviction  with  which  he 
spoke  was  like  a  cup  of  refreshing  water  to  her  in  a 
dry  desert. 

"  Mr.  Traherne,"  she  began,  but  he  interrupted  her 
with  a  wave  of  his  arm. 

"  My  name's  Hamish,"  he  said. 

"  Hamish,  then,"  she  went  on,  smiling  at  the  ghoul- 
ish countenance  before  her,  round  which  the  cigarette 
smoke  ascended  like  incense  about  the  head  of  an  idol, 
"  I've  more  to  tell  you  than  I  can  say.  So  you  must 
listen  and  be  very  good  to  me ! " 

He  settled  himself  in  his  deep  horse-hair  chair  with 
one  leg  over  the  other  and  his  ancient,  deplorably- 
stained  cassock  over  both.  And  she  poured  forth  the 
full  history  of  her  troubles,  omitting  nothing  —  except 
one  or  two  of  Linda's  cruel  speeches.  When  she  had 
completed  her  tale  she  surveyed  him  anxiously.  One 
terrible  fear  made  her  heart  beat  —  the  fear  lest  he 
should  tell  her  she  must  carry  Linda  back  to  London. 
He  seemed  to  read  her  thoughts  in  her  eyes.  "  One 
thing,"  he  began,  "  is  quite  clear.  You  must  both  of 
you  leave  Dyke  House.     Don't  look  so  scared,  child. 


154  RODMOOR 


I  don't  mean  you  must  leave  Rodmoor.  You  can't 
kidnap  your  sister  by  force  and  nothing  short  of  force 
would  get  her,  in  her  present  mood,  to  go  away  with 
you.  But  I  think  —  I  think,"  he  added,  "  we  could 
persuade  her  to  leave  Miss  Doorm." 

He  straightened  out  his  legs,  puckered  his  forehead 
and  pouted  his  thick  lips. 

"  Have  a  strawberry,"  he  said  suddenly,  reaching 
with  his  hand  for  a  plate  l3'ing  amid  a  litter  of  books 
and  papers,  and  stretching  it  out  towards  her.  "  Oh, 
there  are  ashes  on  it.  I'm  sorry !  But  the  fruit's  all 
right.  There  !  keep  it  by  you  —  on  the  floor  —  any- 
where —  and  help  yourself  !  " 

He  once  more  subsided  into  his  chair  and  frowned 
thoughtfully.  Nance,  with  a  smile  of  infinite  relief  — 
for  had  he  not  said  that  to  leave  Rodmoor  was  im- 
possible?—  kept  the  plate  on  her  lap  and  began  eat- 
ing the  fruit.  She  longed  to  blow  the  ashes  away  but 
fear  of  hurting  his  feelings  restrained  her.  She 
brushed  each  strawberry  surreptitiously  with  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  before  lifting  it  to  her  mouth. 

"  You're  not  cold,  are  you?  "  he  said  suddenly,  "  be- 
cause I  could  light  a  fire." 

Nance  looked  at  the  tiny  grate  filled  with  a  heap  of 
bracken-leaves  and  wondered  how  this  would  be  achieved. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said,  smiling  again.     "  I'm  perfectly 


warm." 


a 


Then,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  added,  making  the 
most  alarming  grimace,  "  pull  your  skirt  down.  I  can 
see  your  ankles." 

Nance  hurriedly  drew  up  her  feet  and  tucked  them 
under  her.  "  All  right  now?  "  she  asked,  with  a  faint 
flush. 


TIAMTSIT  TRAHERNE  155 

"  Sorry,  my  dear,"  said  Hamish  Trahcrne,  "  but  you 
must  remember  I'm  a  lonely  monk  and  ankles  as  pretty 
as  yours  disturb  my  mind."  He  glared  at  her  so  hu- 
morously and  benevolently  that  Nance  could  not  be 
angry  with  him.  There  was  something  so  boyish  in 
his  candour  that  it  would  have  seemed  inhuman  to 
take  offence. 

"  I  believe  I  could  think  better  if  I  had  Ricoletto," 
he  cried  a  moment  later,  jumping  up  and  leaving  the 
room.  Nance  took  the  opportunity  of  blowing  every 
trace  of  cigarette-ash  from  her  strawberry  plate  into 
the  fender.  She  had  hardly  done  this  and  demurely 
tucked  herself  up  again  in  her  chair  when  Mr.  Tra- 
herne  re-entered  the  room  carrying  in  his  hands  a  large 
white  rat. 

"  Beautiful,  isn't  he?  "  he  remarked,  offering  the  ani- 
mal for  the  girl  to  stroke.  "  I  love  him.  He  inspires 
me  with  all  my  sermons.  He  pities  the  human  race, 
don't  you,  Ricoletto?  And  doesn't  hate  a  living  thing 
except  cats.  He  has  a  seraphic  temper  and  no  wish 
to  marry.  Ankles  are  nothing  to  him  —  are  they, 
Ricoletto?  —  but  he  likes  potatoes." 

As  he  spoke  the  priest  brushed  aside  a  heap  of  pa- 
pers and  laid  bare  the  half-gnawed  skin  of  one  of  these 
vegetables. 

"  Come,  darling ! "  he  said,  reseating  himself  in  his 
chair  and  placing  rat  and  potato-skin  together  upon  his 
shoulder,  "enjoy  yourself  and  give  me  wisdom  to  de- 
feat the  wiles  of  all  the  devils.  Devils  are  cats,  Rico- 
letto darling,  great,  fluffy,  purring  cats  with  eyes  as 
big  as  saucers." 

Nance  quietly  went  on  eating  strawberries  and  think- 
ing to  herself  how  strange  it  was  that  with  every  con- 


156  RODMOOR 


ceivable  anxiety  tugging  at  her  heart  she  could  feel 
such  a  sense  of  peace. 

"  He's  a  papistical  rat,"  remarked  Mr.  Traherne, 
"  he  likes  incense." 

Once  more  he  relapsed  into  profound  thought  and 
Ricoletto's  movements  made  the  only  sound  in  the  room. 

"  What  you  want,  my  child,"  he  began  at  last,  while 
the  girl  put  her  plate  down  on  the  table  and  hung  upon 
his  words,  "  is  lodgings  for  yourself  and  Linda  in  the 
village.  I  know  an  excellent  woman  who'd  take  you  in 
—  quite  close  to  Miss  Pontifex  and  not  far  from  our 
dear  Raughty.  In  fact,  she's  the  woman  who  cleans 
Fingal's  rooms.  So  that's  all  in  her  favour !  Fingal 
has  a  genius  for  getting  nice  people  about  him.  You 
like  Fingal,  Nance,  eh?  But  I  know  you  do,  and  I 
know,"  and  the  priest  made  the  most  outrageous  grim- 
ace, "  I  know  he  adores  you.  You're  perfectly  safe,  let 
me  tell  you,  with  Fingal,  my  dear ;  however,  he  may 
tease  you.  He's  a  hopeless  heathen  but  he  has  a  heart 
of  gold." 

Nance  nodded  complete  assent  to  the  priest's  words. 
She  smiled,  however,  to  herself  to  think  what  a  little  way 
this  "  safety  "  he  spoke  of  would  go  if  by  chance  her 
heart  were  not  so  entirely  preoccupied.  She  couldn't 
resist  the  thought  of  how  pathetically  like  children  all 
these  admirable  men  were,  both  in  their  frailties  and  in 
their  struggles  against  their  frailties.  Her  sense  of 
peace  and  security  grew  upon  her,  and  with  this  —  for 
she  was  human  —  a  delicate  feeling  of  feminine  power. 
Mr.  Traherne  continued  — 

"  Yes,  you  must  take  lodgings  in  the  village.  Eight- 
een shillings  a  week  —  that  was  what  that  Pontifex 
woman  promised  you,  wasn't  it?  —  won't  be  over  much 


HAMISH  TRAHERNE  157 

for  two  of  you.  But  it'll  keep  you  alive.  Wait, 
though,  wait !  I  don't  see  why  Linda  shouldn't  play 
for  us,  up  here,  on  Sundays.  I'm  always  having  to  go 
round  begging  for  some  one.  Often  I  have  to  be  organ- 
ist myself  as  well  as  priest.  Yes  —  let  her  try  —  let 
her  try !  It'll  help  me  to  keep  an  eye  on  her.  It'll  be 
a  distraction  for  her.  Yes,  let  her  try !  I  could  give 
her  a  little  for  doing  it  —  not  what  she  ought  to  have, 
of  course,  but  a  little,  enough  to  make  her  feel  she  was 
helping  you  in  your  housekeeping.  Yes,"  he  clapped 
his  hands  together  so  violently  that  Ricoletto  scram- 
bled up  against  his  collar  and  clung  there  with  his 
paws.  "  Yes,  that's  what  we'll  do,  my  dear.  We'll 
turn  your  sister  into  a  regular  organist.  Music's  the 
best  charm  in  the  world  to  drive  away  devils,  isn't  it, 
Ricoletto.''     Better  even  than  white  rats." 

Nance  looked  at  him  with  immense  gratitude  and, 
completely  forgetting  his  instructions,  altered  her  po- 
sition to  what  it  had  been  before.  Mr.  Traherne  rose 
and,  turning  his  back  to  her,  drummed  with  his  fingers 
on  the  mantelpiece  while  Ricoletto  struggled  desper- 
ately to  retain  his  balance. 

A  queer  thought  came  suddenly  into  Nance's  head 
and  she  asked  the  priest  why  it  was  that  there  were  so 
many  unmarried  men  in  Rodmoor.  He  swung  round  at 
that  and  gave  her  a  most  goblinish  look,  rubbing  the 
rat's  nose  as  he  did  so,  against  his  cheek. 

"  You  go  far,  Nance,  you  go  far  with  your  ques- 
tions. As  a  matter  of  fact,  I've  sometimes  asked  my- 
self that  very  thing.  You're  quite  right,  you  know, 
perfectly  right.  It  applies  to  the  work-people  here 
as  much  as  to  the  gentry.  We  must  see  what  Fingal 
Raughty  says.     He'd  laugh  at  my  explanation." 


158  RODMOOR 


(( 


What's  your  explanation?  "  enquired  the  girl. 
"  A  very  simple  one,"  returned  the  priest.  "  It's  the 
effect  of  the  sea.  If  you  look  at  the  plants  which  grow 
here  you'll  understand  better  what  I  mean.  But  you 
haven't  seen  the  plant  yet  which  is  most  of  all  char- 
acteristic of  Rodmoor.  It'll  be  out  soon  and  I'll  show 
it  to  you.  The  yellow  horned  poppy !  When  you  see 
that,  Nance, —  and  it's  the  devil's  own  flower,  I  can 
assure  you !  —  you'll  realize  that  there's  something  in 
this  place  that  tends  to  the  abnormal  and  the  perverse. 
I  don't  say  that  the  devil  isn't  active  enough  every- 
where and  I  don't  say  that  all  married  people  are  ex- 
empt from  his  attacks.  But  the  fact  remains  that  the 
Rodmoor  air  has  something  about  it,  something  that 
makes  it  difficult  for  those  who  come  under  its  influ- 
ence to  remain  quite  simple  and  natural.  We  should 
grow  insane  ourselves  —  shouldn't  we,  old  rat  ? 
shouldn't  we,  my  white  beauty.''  —  if  it  weren't  that  we 
had  the  church  to  pray  in  and  '  Don  Quixote  '  to  read ! 
I  don't  want  to  frighten  you,  Nance,  and  I  pray 
earnestly  that  your  Adrian  will  shake  off,  like  King 
Saul,  the  devil  that  troubles  him.  But  Rodmoor  isn't 
the  place  to  come  to  unless  you  have  a  double  share 
of  sound  nerves,  or  a  bottomless  fund  of  natural  good- 
ness —  like  our  friend  Fingal  Raughty.  It's  absurd 
not  to  recognize  that  human  beings,  like  plants  and 
animals,  are  subject  to  all  manner  of  physical  influ- 
ences. Nature  can  be  terribly  malign  in  her  tricks 
upon  us.  She  can  encourage  our  tendencies  to  morbid 
evil  just  as  she  can  produce  the  horned  yellow  poppy. 
The  only  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  hold  fast  to  a  power 
completely  beyond  Nature  which  can  come  in  from  out- 


HAMISII  TRAHERNE  139 

side,  Nance  —  from  outside !  —  and  change  every- 
thing." 

While  Nance  listened  to  Mr.  Traherne's  discourse 
with  a  portion  of  her  mind,  another  part  of  it  reverted 
to  Linda  and  as  soon  as  he  paused  she  broke  in. 

"  Can't  we  do  anything,  anything  at  all,  to  stop  Mr. 
Rcnshaw  from  seeing  my  sister.''  " 

The  priest  sighed  heavily  and  screwed  his  face  into  a 
hundred  grotesque  wrinkles. 

"  I'll  talk  to  him,"  he  said.  "  It's  what  I  dread  do- 
ing more  than  anything  on  earth,  for,  to  tell  you  the 
honest  truth,  I'm  a  thorough  coward  in  these  things. 
But  I'll  talk  to  him.  I  knew  you  were  going  to  ask 
me  to  do  that.  I  knew  it  directly  you  came  here.  I 
said  to  myself  as  soon  as  I  saw  you, '  Hamish,  my  friend, 
you've  got  to  face  that  man  again,'  but  I'll  do  it,  Nance. 
I'll  do  it.  Perhaps  not  to-day.  Yes,  I'll  do  it  to-day. 
He'll  be  up  at  Oakguard  this  evening.  I'll  go  after 
supper.  It'll  be  precious  little  supper  I'll  eat,  Nance, 
but  I'll  see  him,  I'll  see  him !  " 

Nance  showed  her  gratitude  by  giving  him  her  hand 
and  looking  tenderly  into  his  eyes.  It  was  Mr,  Tra- 
herne  who  first  broke  the  spell  and  unclasped  their  fin- 
gers. 

"  You're  a  good  girl,  my  dear,"  he  muttered,  "  a 
good  girl,"  and  he  led  her  gently  to  the  door. 


xin 

DEPARTURE 

AFTER  her  talk  with  Mr.  Traherne,  Nance  went 
straight  to  the  village  and  visited  the  available 
lodging.  She  found  the  place  quite  reasonably 
adapted  to  her  wishes  and  met  with  a  genial,  though 
a  somewhat  surprised  reception  from  the  woman  of  the 
house.  It  was  arranged  that  the  sisters  should  come 
to  her  that  very  evening,  their  more  bulky  possessions 
—  and  these  were  not,  after  all,  very  extensive  —  to 
follow  them  on  the  ensuing  day,  as  suited  the  conveni- 
ence of  the  local  carrier.  It  remained  for  her  to  se- 
cure her  sister's  agreement  to  this  sudden  change  and 
to  announce  their  departure  to  Rachel  Doorm.  The 
first  of  these  undertakings  proved  easier  than  Nance 
had  dared  to  hope. 

During  these  morning  hours  Miss  Doorm  gave  Linda 
hardly  a  moment  of  peace.  She  persecuted  her  with 
questions  about  the  events  of  the  preceding  day  and 
betrayed  such  malignant  curiosity  as  to  the  progress 
of  the  love  affair  with  Brand  that  she  reduced  the  child 
to  a  condition  bordering  upon  hysterical  prostration. 
Linda  finally  took  refuge  in  her  own  room  under  the 
excuse  of  changing  her  dress  but  even  here  she  was  not 
left  alone.  Lying  on  her  bed,  with  loosened  hair  and 
wide-open,  troubled  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ceiling,  she 
heard  Rachel  moving  uneasily  from  room  to  room  be- 
low like  a  revengeful  ghost  disappointed  of  its  prey. 

160 


DEPARTURE  161 

The  young  girl  put  her  fingers  in  her  ears  to  keep  this 
sound  away.  As  she  did  so,  her  glance  wandered  to  the 
window  through  which  she  could  discern  heavy  dark 
clouds  racing  across  the  sky,  pursued  by  a  pitiless  wind. 
She  watched  these  clouds  from  where  she  lay  and  her  agi- 
tated mind  increased  the  strangeness  of  their  ominous 
storm-blown  shapes.  Unable  at  last  to  endure  the 
sight  of  them  any  longer  she  leapt  to  her  feet  and,  with 
her  long  bare  arms,  pulled  down  the  blind.  To  any  one 
seeing  her  from  outside  as  she  did  this  she  must  have 
appeared  like  a  hunted  creature  trying  to  shut  out  the 
world.  Flinging  herself  upon  her  bed  again  she  pressed 
her  fingers  once  more  into  her  ears.  In  crossing  the 
room  she  had  heard  the  heavy  steps  of  her  enemy  as- 
cending the  staircase.  Conscious  of  the  vibration  of 
these  steps,  even  while  she  obliterated  the  sound  they 
made,  the  J'oung  girl  sat  up  and  stared  at  the  door. 
She  could  see  it  shake  as  the  woman,  trying  the  handle, 
found  it  locked  against  her. 

Nothing  is  harder  than  to  keep  human  ears  closed 
by  force  when  the  faculty  of  human  attention  is 
strained  to  the  uttermost.  It  was  not  long  before  she 
dropped  her  hands  and  then  in  a  moment  her  whole 
soul  concentrated  itself  upon  listening.  She  heard 
Miss  Doorm  move  away  and  walk  heavily  to  the  end  of 
the  passage.  Then  there  was  a  long  pause  of  deadly 
silence  and  then,  tramp  —  tramp  —  tramp,  she  was 
back  again. 

"  I  won't  unlock  the  door !  I  won't !  I  won't !  I 
won't ! "  muttered  the  girl,  and  as  if  to  make  certain 
that  her  body  obeyed  her  will  she  stretched  herself  out 
stiffly  and  clutched  the  iron  bars  above  her  head.  She 
lay  like  this  for  some  minutes,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes 


162  RODMOOR 


wildlj^  alert  and  her  breast  rising  and  falling  under  her 
bodice. 

Once  more  the  door  shook  and  she  heard  her  name 
pronounced  in  a  low  clear-toned  voice. 

"  Linda !  Linda !  "  the  voice  repeated.  "  Linda ! 
I  must  talk  to  jou  !  " 

Unable  to  endure  the  tension  an^^  longer  and  find- 
ing the  dimness  of  the  room  more  trying  than  the  view 
of  the  sky,  the  girl  ran  to  the  window  and  pulled  up  the 
blind  as  hastily  as  she  had  pulled  it  down.  She  gazed 
out,  pressing  her  face  against  the  pane.  The  clouds, 
darker  and  more  threatening  than  ever,  followed  one 
another  across  the  heavens  like  a  huge  herd  of  mon- 
strous beasts  driven  by  invisible  herdsmen.  The  Loon 
swirled  and  eddied  between  its  banks,  its  waters  a  pale 
brownish  colour  and  here  and  there,  floating  on  its  sur- 
face, pieces  of  seaweed  drifted.  The  vast  horizon  of 
fens,  stretching  away  towards  Mundham,  looked  almost 
black  under  the  sky  and  the  tall  pines  of  Oakguard 
seemed  to  bow  their  heads  as  if  at  the  approach  of 
some  unknown  menace. 

The  door  continued  to  be  shaken  and  the  voice  of 
Rachel  Doorm  never  ceased  its  appeal.  Linda  went 
back  to  her  bed  and  sat  down  upon  it,  propping  her 
chin  on  her  hands.  There  is  something  about  the  dark- 
ening of  a  house  by  day,  under  the  weight  of  a  threat- 
ened storm,  that  has  more  of  what  is  ominous  and  evil 
in  it  than  anything  that  can  occur  at  night.  The 
"  demon  that  walketh  by  noonday  "  draws  close  to  us 
at  these  times. 

"  Linda  !  Linda !  Let  me  in  !  I  want  to  speak  to 
you,"  pleaded  the  woman.  The  girl  rose  to  her  feet 
and,   rushing  to   the  door,  unlocked  it  quickly.     Re- 


DEPARTURE  163 

turning  to  her  bed  she  threw  herself  down  on  her  face 
and  remained  motionless.  Rachel  Doorm  entered  and, 
seating  herself  close  to  Linda's  side,  laid  her  hand  upon 
the  girl's  shoulder. 

"Why  haven't  you  got  on  your  frock?"  she  mur- 
mured. "  Your  arms  must  be  cold  as  ice.  Yes,  so 
they  are !  Let  me  help  you  to  dress  as  I  used  to  in 
the  old  days." 

Linda  drew  herself  away  from  her  touch  and  with 
a  convulsive  jerk  of  her  body  turned  over  towards  the 
wall. 

"  It's  a  pity  you  didn't  think  over  everything,"  Miss 
Doorm  went  on,  "  before  you  began  this  game  with  Mr. 
Renshaw.  It's  begun  to  hurt  you  now,  hasn't  it.'' 
Then  why  don't  you  stop.^  Tell  me  that,  Linda  Her- 
rick.  Why  don't  you  stop  and  refuse  to  see  him  any 
more?  What?  You  won't  answer  me?  I'll  answer 
for  you  then.  You  don't  stop  now,  you  don't  draw 
back  now,  because  you  can't !  He's  got  hold  of  you. 
You  feel  him  even  now  —  don't  you  —  tugging  at  your 
heart?  Yes,  you're  caught,  my  pretty  bird,  you're 
caught.  No  more  tossing  up  of  your  little  chin  and 
throwing  back  your  head !  No  more  teasing  this  one 
and  that  with  your  dainty  ways  —  while  you  whistle 
them  all  down  the  wind.  It's  you  —  you  —  that  has  to 
come  now  when  some  one  else  calls,  and  come  quickly, 
too,  wherever  you  may  have  run !  How  do  you  know 
he  doesn't  want  you  now?  How  do  you  know  he's  not 
waiting  for  you  now  over  there  by  the  pines?  Take 
care,  my  girl !  Mr.  Renshaw  isn't  a  man  you  can  play 
with,  as  you  played  with  those  boys  in  London.  It'll 
be  you  who'll  do  the  whining  and  crying  this  time.  The 
day's  near  when  you'll  be  on  your  knees  to  him  begging 


164  RODMOOR 


and  begging  for  what  you'll  never  get !  Did  you  think 
that  a  chit  of  a  child  like  you,  just  because  you've  got 
soft  hair  and  white  skin,  could  keep  and  hold  a  man 
like  that? 

"  Don't  say  afterwards  that  Rachel  Doorm  hadn't 
warned  you.  I  say  to  you  now,  give  him  up,  let  him 
go,  hide  yourself  away  from  him !  I  say  that  —  but  I 
know  very  well  you  won't  do  what  I  say.  And  you 
won't  do  it  because  you  can't  do  it,  because  he's  got 
your  little  heart  and  your  little  body  and  your  little 
soul  in  the  palm  of  his  hand !  I  can  tell  you  what  that 
means.  I  know  why  you  press  your  hands  against 
your  breast  and  turn  to  the  wall.  I've  done  that  in 
my  time  and  turned  and  tossed,  long  nights,  and  got  no 
comfort.  And  you'll  turn  and  toss,  too,  and  call  and 
call  to  the  darkness  and  get  no  answer  —  just  as  I  got 
none.  Why  don't  you  leave  him  now,  Linda,  before  it's 
too  late.f*  Shall  I  tell  you  why  you  don't.''  Because 
it's  too  late  already !  Because  he's  got  you  for  good 
and  all  —  got  you  forever  and  a  day  —  just  as  some 
one,  no  matter  who,  got  Rachel  once  upon  a  time ! " 

Her  voice  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  splashing  of 
rain  against  the  window  and  the  loud  moaning  gust  of 
a  tremendous  wind  making  all  the  casements  of  the 
house  rattle. 

"Where's  Nance?"  cried  the  young  girl,  starting 
up  and  leaping  from  the  bed.  "  I  want  Nance !  I 
want  to  tell  her  something !  " 

At  that  moment  there  were  voices  below  and  the 
sound  of  a  vehicle  driven  to  the  rear  of  the  house.  Miss 
Doorm  left  the  room  and  ran  down  the  stairs.  Linda 
flung  on  the  first  dress  that  offered  itself  and  going  to 
the  mirror  began  hastily  tying  up  her  hair.     She  had 


DEPAKTURE  165 


hardly  finished  when  her  sister  entered.  Nance  stood 
on  the  threshold  for  a  moment  hesitating,  and  looking 
anxiously  at  the  other.  It  was  Linda  who  made  the 
first  movement. 

"  Take  me  away  from  here,"  she  gasped,  flinging 
herself  into  her  sister's  arms  and  embracing  her  pas- 
sionately, "  take  me  away  from  here  !  " 

Nance  returned  the  embrace  with  ardour  but  her 
thoughts  whirled  a  mad  dance  through  her  brain.  She 
had  a  momentary  temptation  to  reveal  at  once  her  new 
plan  and  let  her  sister's  cry  have  no  other  answer.  But 
her  nobler  instinct  conquered. 

"  At  once,  at  once !  My  darling,"  she  murmured. 
"  Yes,  oh,  yes,  let's  go  at  once !  I've  got  some  money 
and  Mr.  Traherne  will  send  me  some  more.  We'll  take 
the  three  o'clock  train  and  be  safe  back  in  London 
before  night.  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling!  I'm  so 
glad !     We'll  begin  a  new  life  together  —  a  new  life." 

At  the  mention  of  the  word  "  London  "  Linda's  arms 
relaxed  their  hold  and  her  whole  body  stiffened. 

"  No,"  she  gasped,  pushing  her  sister  away  and 
pressing  her  hand  to  her  side,  "  no,  Nance  dear,  I  can't 
do  it.  It  would  kill  me.  I  should  run  away  from  you 
and  come  back  here  if  I  had  to  walk  the  whole  way. 
I  won't  see  him.  I  won't !  I  won't !  I  won't  talk  to 
him  —  I  won't  let  him  love  me  —  but  I  can't  go  away 
from  here.  I  can't  go  back  to  London.  I  should  get 
ill  and  die.  I  should  want  him  so  much  that  I  should 
die.  No,  no,  Nance  darling,  if  you  dragged  me  by 
force  to  London  I  should  come  back  the  next  day  some- 
how or  another.  I  know  I  should  —  I  feel  it  here  — 
as  she  said." 

She  kept  her  hand  still  pressed  against  her  side  and 


166  RODMOOR 


gazed  into  Nance's  face  with  a  look  of  helpless  plead- 
ing. 

"  We  can  find  somewhere  to  live,  you  and  I,  without 
going  far  away,  somewhere  where  we  shan't  see  her 
any  more  —  can't  we,  Nance?  " 

It  was  then,  and  with  a  clear  conscience  now,  that 
the  elder  girl,  speaking  hurriedly  and  softly,  communi- 
cated the  preparations  she  had  made  and  the  fact  that 
they  were  free  to  leave  Dyke  House  at  any  moment  they 
chose. 

*'  I've  asked  the  man  to  put  up  the  horse  here  for 
the  afternoon,"  she  said,  "  so  that  we  shall  have  time 
to  collect  the  things  we  want.  They'll  send  for  our 
trunks  to-morrow." 

Linda's  relief  at  hearing  this  news  was  pathetic  to 
see. 

"Oh,  you  darling  —  you  darling!"  she  cried,  "I 
might  have  known  you'd  save  me.  I  might  have  known 
it !  Oh,  Nance  dear,  it  was  horrid  of  me  to  say  those 
things  to  you  yesterday.  I'll  be  good  now  and  do  what- 
ever you  tell  me.  As  long  as  I'm  not  far  away  from 
him  —  not  too  far  —  I  won't  see  him,  or  speak  to  him, 
or  write  to  him !  How  sweet  of  Mr.  Traherne  to  let 
me  play  the  organ!  And  he'll  pay  me,  too,  you  say.'' 
So  that  I  shall  be  helping  you  and  not  only  be  a  bur- 
den ?     Oh,  my  dear,  what  happiness,  what  happiness !  " 

Nance  left  her  and  descended  to  the  kitchen  to  help 
Miss  Doorm  prepare  their  midday  meal.  The  two 
women,  as  they  busied  themselves  at  their  task,  avoided 
any  reference  to  the  issue  between  them,  and  Nance 
wondered  if  the  man  from  the  Admiral's  Head,  who 
now  sat  watching  their  preparations  and  speculating 
whether  they  intended  to  give  him  beer  as  well  as  meat. 


DEPARTURE  167 

liad  intimated  to  Rachel  the  object  of  his  delayed  de- 
parture. When  the  meal  was  ready,  Linda  was  sum- 
moned to  share  it  and  the  thirsty  ostler,  sipping  lem- 
onade with  a  wry  countenance,  at  a  side  table,  was 
given  the  privilege  of  hearing  how  three  feminine  per- 
sons, their  heads  full  of  agitation  and  antipathy,  could 
talk  and  laugh  and  eat  as  if  everything  in  the  wide 
world  was  smooth,  safe,  harmless  and  uninteresting. 

When  the  meal  was  over  Nance  and  Linda  once  more 
retired  to  their  room  and  busied  themselves  with  se- 
lecting from  their  modest  possessions  such  articles  as 
they  considered  it  advisable  to  take  with  them.  The 
rest  they  carefully  packed  away  in  their  two  leather 
trunks  —  trunks  which  bore  the  initials  "  N.  H."  and 
"  L.  H."  and  still  had  glued  to  their  sides  railway  labels 
with  the  word  "  Swanage  "  upon  them,  reminiscent  of 
their  last  seaside  excursion  with  their  father. 

The  afternoon  slipped  rapidly  away  and  still  the 
threatened  storm  hung  suspended,  the  rain  coming  and 
going  in  fitful  gusts  of  wind  and  the  clouds  racing 
along  the  sky.  By  six  o'clock  it  became  so  dark  that 
Nance  was  compelled  to  light  candles.  Their  packing 
had  been  interrupted  by  eager  low-voiced  consultation 
as  to  how  they  would  arrange  their  days  when  these 
were,  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  completely  at  their 
own  disposal.  No  further  reference  had  been  made 
between  them,  either  to  Adrian  or  to  Mr.  Renshaw. 
The  candles,  flickering  in  the  gusty  wind,  threw  inter- 
mittent spots  of  light  upon  the  girls'  figures  as  they 
stooped  over  their  work  or  bent  forward,  on  their  knees, 
whispering  and  laughing.  Not  since  either  of  them  had 
arrived  in  Rodmoor  had  they  been  quite  so  happy.  The 
relief  at  escaping  from  Dyke  House  lifted  the  atmos- 


168  RODMOOR 


phere  about  them  so  materially  that  while  they  spoke  of 
their  lodging  in  the  High  Street  and  of  the  virtues  of 
Mrs.  Raps,  Nance  began  to  feel  that  Adrian  would, 
after  all,  soon  grow  weary  of  Philippa  and  Linda  be- 
gan to  dream  that,  in  spite  of  all  appearances.  Brand's 
attitude  towards  her  was  worthy  of  a  man  of  honour. 

At  six  o'clock  they  were  ready  and  Nance  went  down 
to  announce  their  departure  to  Rachel  Doorm.  She 
found  their  driver  asleep  by  the  kitchen  fire  and,  hav- 
ing roused  him  and  told  him  to  put  his  horse  into  the 
trap,  she  went  out  to  look  for  her  mother's  friend. 

She  found  Rachel  standing  on  the  tow  path  gazing 
gloomily  at  the  river.  She  was  bareheaded  and  the 
wind,  wailing  round  her,  fluttered  a  wisp  of  her  grey 
hair  against  her  forehead.  Beneath  this  her  sunken 
eyes  seemed  devoid  of  all  light.  She  turned  when  she 
heard  Nance's  step,  her  heavy  skirt  flapping  in  the  wind 
as  she  did  so,  like  a  funereal  flag. 

"  I  see,"  she  said,  pointing  at  the  light  in  the  sisters' 
room  where  the  figure  of  Linda  could  be  observed  pass- 
ing and  re-passing,  "  I  see  you're  taking  her  away.  I 
suppose  it's  because  of  Mr.  Renshaw.  May  I  ask  — 
if  it's  of  any  interest  to  you  that  I  should  care  at  all 
—  what  you're  going  to  do  with  her?  She's  been  — 
she  and  her  mother  —  the  curse  of  my  life,  and  I  fancy 
she's  now  going  to  be  the  curse  of  3'ours." 

Nance  wrapped  herself  more  tightly  in  a  cloak  she 
had  picked  up  as  she  came  out  and  looked  unflinchingly 
into  the  woman's  haggard  face. 

"  Yes,  we're  going  away  —  both  of  us,"  she  said. 
*'  We're  going  to  the  village." 

"  To  live  on  air  and  sea-water  ?  "  enquired  the  other 
bitterly. 


DEPARTURE 169 

"  No,"  rejoined  Nance  gently,  "  to  live  in  lodgings 
and  to  work  for  our  living.  I've  got  a  place  already 
at  the  Pontifex  shop  and  Mr.  Traherne's  going  to  pay 
Linda  for  playing  the  organ.  It'll  be  better  like  that. 
I  couldn't  let  her  go  on  here  after  what  happened  yes- 
terday." 

Her  voice  trembled  but  she  continued  to  look  Miss 
Doorm  straight  in  the  face. 

"  You  were  away  on  purpose  yesterday,  Rachel,"  she 
said  gravely,  "  so  that  those  two  might  be  together. 
It  was  only  some  scruple,  or  fear,  on  Mr.  Renshaw's 
part  that  stopped  him  meeting  her  in  the  house.  How 
often  this  has  happened  before  —  his  seeing  her  like 
this  —  I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  want  to  know  —  I  only 
pray  to  God  that  no  harm's  been  done.  If  it  has  been 
done,  the  child's  ruin's  on  our  head.  I  cannot  under- 
stand you,  Rachel,  I  cannot  understand  you." 

Miss  Doorm's  haggard  mouth  opened  as  if  to  utter 
a  cry  but  she  breathed  deeply  and  restrained  it.  Her 
gaunt  fingers  twined  and  untwined  themselves  and  the 
wind,  blowing  at  her  skirt,  displayed  the  tops  of  her 
old-fashioned  boots  with  their  worn,  elastic  sides. 

"  So  she's  separated  us,  has  she.''  "  she  hissed.  "  I 
thought  she  would.  She  was  born  for  that.  And  it's 
nothing  to  you  that  I've  nursed  you  and  cared  for  you 
and  planned  for  you  since  you  were  a  baby.''  Noth- 
ing !  Nothing  at  all !  She  comes  between  us  now  as 
her  mother  came  before.  I  knew  it  would  happen  so ! 
I  knew  it  would  !  She's  just  like  her  mother  —  soft  and 
clinging  —  soft  and  white  —  and  this  is  the  end  of  it." 

Her  voice  changed  to  a  low,  almost  frightened  tone. 

"  Do  you  realize  that  her  mother  comes  to  me  every 
night  and  sits  looking  at  me  with  her  great  eyes  just 


170  RODMOOR 


as  she  used  to  do  when  Linda  had  been  rude  to  me  in 
the  old  days?  Do  you  realize  that  she  walks  back- 
wards and  forwards  outside  my  door  when  I've  driven 
her  away?  Do  you  realize  that  when  I  go  to  bed  I 
find  her  there,  waiting  for  me,  white  and  soft  and  cling- 
ing?" 

Her  voice  rose  to  a  kind  of  moan  and  the  wind  car- 
ried it  across  the  empty  road  and  tossed  it  over  the 
fields. 

"  And  she  speaks,  too,  Nance.  She  says  things  to 
me,  soft,  clinging,  crying  things  that  drive  me  dis- 
tracted. One  day,  she  told  me  that  only  last  night, 
one  day  she's  going  to  kiss  me  and  never  let  me  go  — 
going  to  kiss  me  with  soft,  pleading,  terrified  lips 
through  all  eternity,  kiss  me  just  as  she  did  once  when 
Linda  lost  my  beads.  You  remember  my  beads,  Nance? 
Real  jade,  they  were,  with  funny  red  streaks.  I  often 
see  them  round  her  neck.  They'll  be  round  her  neck 
when  she  kisses  me,  jade,  you  know,  my  dear,  with  red 
streaks.  I  shall  see  nothing  else  then,  nothing  else 
while  we  lie  buried  together !  " 

She  lowered  her  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"  It  was  the  Captain  who  brought  them.  He  brought 
them  over  far  seas.  He  brought  them  for  me,  do  3'ou 
hear  —  for  me !  But  they're  always  round  her  neck 
now,  after  that  day." 

Nance  listened  to  this  wild  outburst  with  a  set  stern 
face.  She  had  always  suspected  that  there  was  some- 
thing desperate  and  morbid  about  Rachel's  attachment 
to  her  father  but  never,  until  this  moment,  had  she 
dreamed  how  far  the  thing  went.  She  looked  at  the 
woman's  face  now  and  sighed  and  with  that  sigh  she 
flung  to  the  blowing  wind  the  covenant  between  herself 


DEPARTURE  171 

and  her  own  mother.  All  the  girl's  natural  sanity  and 
sense  of  proportion  were  awake  now  and  she  stiffened 
her  nerves  and  hardened  her  heart  for  what  she  had 
to  do. 

"  Between  a  vow  to  the  dead,"  she  thought,  "  and  the 
safety  of  the  living,  there  can  be  only  one  choice  for 
me." 

"  So  you're  going  away,"  began  Miss  Doorm  again. 
"  Well,  go,  my  dear,  go  and  leave  me !  I  shan't  trouble 
the  earth  much  longer  after  you're  gone." 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  river  and  remained  mo- 
tionless, watching  the  flowing  water.  The  heavy  weight 
of  the  threatening  storm,  the  storm  that  seemed  as 
though  some  powerful  earth-god,  with  uplifted  hand, 
were  holding  back  its  descent,  had  destroyed  all  natural 
and  normal  daylight  without  actually  plunging  the 
world  into  darkness.  A  strange  greenish-coloured 
shadow,  like  the  shadow  of  water  seen  through  water, 
hung  over  the  trees  of  the  park  and  the  opposite  bank 
of  the  river.  The  same  greenish  shadow,  only  touched 
there  with  something  darker  and  more  mysterious, 
brooded  over  the  far  fens  out  of  which,  in  the  remote 
distance,  a  sort  of  reddish  exhalation  indicated  the  lo- 
cality of  the  Mundham  factories.  The  waters  of  the 
Loon  —  as  Rachel  and  Nance  looked  at  them  now  — 
had  a  dull  whitish  gleam,  like  the  gleam  of  a  dead  fish's 
eye.  The  sense  of  thunder  in  the  air,  though  no  sound 
of  it  had  yet  been  heard,  seemed  to  evoke  a  kind  of 
frightened  expectancy.  The  smaller  birds  had  been 
reduced  to  absolute  stillness,  their  twitterings  hushed 
as  if  under  the  weight  of  a  pall.  Only  a  solitary 
plover's  scream,  at  rare  intervals,  went  whirling  by  on 
the  wind. 


172  RODMOOR 


"  Come  back,  come  in,  will  you?  "  said  Nance  at  last, 
"  and  say  good-bye  to  us,  Rachel.  I  shall  come  and 
see  you,  of  course.     We  shall  not  be  far  away." 

She  stretched  out  her  hand  to  help  her  down  the 
slope  of  the  embankment.  Rachel  made  no  response 
to  this  overture  but  followed  her  in  silence.  No  sooner, 
however,  had  they  entered  the  garden  and  closed  the 
little  gate  behind  them,  than  the  woman  fell  on  her 
knees  on  the  ground  and  caught  the  girl  round  the 
waist. 

"  Nance,  my  treasure !  "  she  cried  pitifully,  "  Nance, 
my  heart's  baby !  Nance,  oh,  Nance,  you  won't  leave 
me  like  this  after  all  these  years?  No,  I  won't  let 
you  go!  Nance,  you  can't  mean  it?  You  can't  really 
mean  it?  " 

The  wind,  blowing  in  gusts  about  them,  made  the  gate 
behind  them  swing  open  on  its  hinges.  Rachel's  di- 
shevelled tress  of  grey  hair  flapped  like  a  tattered  piece 
of  rag  against  the  girl's  side. 

"  Look,"  the  woman  wailed,  "  I  pray  you  on  my 
knees  not  to  desert  me !  You  don't  know  what  you're 
doing  to  me.  You  don't,  Nance,  you  don't !  It's  all 
my  life  you're  taking.  Oh,  my  darling,  won't  you  have 
pity?  You're  the  only  thing  I've  got  —  the  only  thing 
I  love.     Nance,  Nance,  have  pity  on  me !  " 

Nance,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  but  her  face  still  firm 
and  hard-set,  tried  to  free  herself  from  the  hands  that 
held  her.  She  tried  gently  and  tenderly  at  first  but 
Rachel's  despair  made  the  attempt  difficult.  Then  she 
realized  that  this  appalling  tension  must  be  brought 
at  all  costs  to  an  end.  With  a  sudden,  relentless  jerk, 
she  tore  herself  away  and  rushed  towards  the  house. 
Rachel  fell  forward  on  her  face,  her  hands  clutching 


DEPxVRTl^RE  173 


the  damp  mould.  Then  she  staggered  up  and  raised  her 
hand  towards  the  hghted  window  above  at  which  Linda's 
figure  was  clearly  visible. 

"  It's  3^ou  —  it's  you,"  she  called  aloud,  "  it's  you 
who've  done  this  —  who've  turned  my  heart's  darling 
against  me,  and  may  you  be  cursed  for  it !  May  your 
love  turn  to  poison  and  eat  your  white  flesh !  May 
your  soul  pray  and  pray  for  comfort  and  find  none! 
Never  —  never  —  never  —  find  any  !  Oh,  you  may 
well  hide  yourself!  But  he  will  find  you.  Brand  will 
find  you  and  make  you  pay  for  this !  Brand  and  the 
sea  will  find  you.  Listen!  Do  you  hear  me?  Listen! 
It's  crying  out  for  you  now !  " 

Whether  it  was  the  sudden  cessation  of  her  voice, 
intensifying  the  stillness,  or  a  slight  veering  of  the  wind 
to  the  eastward,  it  is  certain  that  at  that  moment, 
above  the  noise  of  the  creaking  gate  and  the  rustling 
bushes,  came  the  sound  which,  of  all  others,  seemed  the 
expression  of  Rodmoor's  troubled  soul.  Linda  her- 
self may  not  have  heard  it  for  at  that  moment  she  was 
feverishly  helping  Nance  to  pile  up  their  belongings 
in  the  cart.  But  the  driver  of  their  vehicle  heard 
it. 

"  The  wind's  changing,"  he  remarked.  "  Can  you 
hear  that?     That's  the  darned  sea!" 

The  trap  carr3'ing  the  two  sisters  was  already  some 
distance  along  the  road  when  Nance  turned  her  head 
and  looked  back.  They  had  blown  out  their  candles 
before  leaving  and  the  kitchen  fire  had  died  down  so 
that  there  was  no  reason  to  be  surprised  that  no  light 
shone  from  any  of  the  windows.  Yet  it  was  with  a 
cold  sinking  of  the  heart  that  the  girl  leaned  forward 
once  more  by  the  driver's   side.     She  could  not  help 


174  RODMOOR 


seeing  in  imagination  a  broken  figure  stumbling  round 
the  walls  of  that  dark  house,  or  perhaps  even  now  stand- 
ing in  their  dismantled  room  alone  amid  emptiness  and 
silence,  alone  amid  the  ghosts  of  the  past. 


XIV 

BRAND  RENSHAW 

WHILE  the  sisters  were  taking  possession  of 
their  new  abode  and  trying  to  eat  —  though 
neither  had  much  appetite  —  the  supper 
provided  for  them  by  Mrs.  Raps,  Hamish  Traherne,  his 
cassock  protected  from  the  threatening  storm  by  a 
heavy  ulster,  was  making  his  promised  effort  to  "  talk  " 
with  the  master  of  Oakguard.  Impelled  by  an  instinct 
he  could  not  resist,  perhaps  with  a  vague  notion  that 
the  creature's  presence  would  sustain  his  courage,  he 
carried,  curled  up  in  an  inside  pocket  of  his  cloak, 
his  darling  Ricoletto.  The  rat's  appetite  had  been  un- 
usually good  that  evening  and  it  now  slept  peacefully 
in  its  warm  nest,  oblivious  of  the  beating  heart  of  its 
master.  Carrying  his  familiar  oak  stick  in  his  hand 
and  looking  to  all  appearance  quite  as  formidable  as 
any  highwa^'man  the  priest  made  his  way  through  the 
sombre  avenue  of  gnarled  and  weather-beaten  trees  that 
led  to  the  Renshaw  mansion.  He  rang  the  bell  with  an 
impetuous  violence,  the  violence  of  a  visitor  whose  in- 
ternal trepidation  mocks  his  exterior  resolution.  To 
his  annoyance  and  surprise  he  learnt  that  Mr.  Ren- 
shaw was  spending  the  evening  with  Mr.  Stork  down 
in  the  village.  He  asked  to  be  allowed  to  see  Mrs.  Ren- 
shaw, feeling  in  some  obscure  way  suspicious  of  the 
servant's  statement  and  unwilling  to  give  up  his  enter- 
prise at  the  first  rebuff.     The  lady  came  out  at  once 

into  the  hall. 

175 


176  RODMOOR 


"  Come  in,  come  in,  Mr.  Traherne,"  slie  said,  quite 
eagerly.  "  I  suppose  you've  already  dined  but  you  can 
have  dessert  with  us.  Philippa  always  sits  long  over 
dessert.  She  likes  eating  fruit  better  than  anything 
else.     She's  eating  gooseberries  to-night." 

Mrs.  Renshaw  always  had  a  way  of  detaching  her- 
self from  her  daughter  and  speaking  of  her  as  if  she 
were  a  strange  and  somewhat  menacing  animal  with 
whom  destiny  had  compelled  her  to  live.  But  the  priest 
refused  to  remove  his  ulster.  The  interest  of  seeing 
Philippa  eat  gooseberries  was  not  strong  enough  to 
interrupt  his  purpose. 

"  Your  son  won't  be  home  till  late,  I'm  afraid?  "  he 
said.  "  I  particularly  —  yes,  particularly  —  wanted 
to  see  him  to-night.  I  understand  he's  at  the  cot- 
tage." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  cried  the  lady  in  her  hurried,  low- 
voiced  tone.  "  Sit  down  here,  won't  you?  I'll  just 
—  I'll  just  see  Philippa." 

She  returned  to  the  dining-room  and  the  priest  sat 
down  and  waited.  Presently  she  came  hurrying  back 
carrying  in  her  hands  a  plate  upon  which  was  a  bunch 
of  grapes. 

"  These  are  for  you,"  she  said.  "  Philippa  won't 
touch  them.  There !  Let  me  choose  you  out  some 
nice  ones." 

The  servant  had  followed  her  and  now  stood  like  a 
pompous  and  embarrassed  policeman  uncertain  of  his 
duty.  It  seemed  to  give  Mrs.  Renshaw  some  kind  of 
inscrutable  satisfaction  to  cause  this  embarrassment. 
She  sat  down  beside  the  priest  and  handed  him  the 
grapes,  one  by  one,  as  if  he  were  a  child. 

"  Brand  orders  these  from  London,"  she  remarked, 


BRAND  RKNSIIAW  177 

"  that's  why  we  get  them  now.  I  call  it  extravagance, 
but  he  zvUl  do  it."  She  sighed  heavily.  "  Philippa," 
she  repeated,  "  prefers  garden  fruit  so  you  mustn't 
mind  eating  them.  They'll  get  bad  if  they're  not 
eaten." 

The  servant  hastened  on  tip-toe  to  the  dining-room 
door,  peered  in,  and  returned  to  his  post.  He  looked 
for  all  the  world,  thought  Mr.  Trahcrne,  like  a  ruffled 
and  disconsolate  heron.  "  He'll  stand  on  one  leg 
soon,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"  When  do  you  expect  your  son  home.''  "  he  enquired 
again.  "  Perhaps  I  might  call  at  the  cottage  and  walk 
back  with  him." 

"  Yes,  do ! "  Mrs.  Renshaw  cried  with  unexpected 
eagerness.  "  Do  call  at  the  cottage.  It'll  be  nice  for 
you  to  join  them.  They'll  all  be  there  —  Mr.  Sorio 
and  the  Doctor  and  Brand.  Yes,  do  go  in!  It'll  be 
a  relief  to  me  to  think  of  vou  with  them.  I'm  sometimes 
afraid  that  cousin  Tassar  encourages  dear  Brand  to 
drink  too  much  of  that  stuff  he  likes  to  make.  They 
7C'ill  put  spirits  into  it.  I'm  always  telling  them  that 
lime  juice  would  be  just  as  nice.  Yes,  do  go,  Mr.  Tra- 
hcrne, and  insist  on  having  lime  juice!" 

The  priest  looked  at  the  lady,  looked  at  the  servant 
and  looked  at  the  hall  door.  He  felt  a  faint  scratch- 
ing going  on  inside  his  cloak.  Ricoletto  was  beginning 
to  wake  up. 

"  Well,  I'll  go  !  "  he  exclaimed,  rising  to  his  feet. 

At  that  moment  the  figure  of  Philippa,  exquisitely 
dressed  in  a  dark  crimson  gown,  emerged  from  the  din- 
ing-room. She  advanced  slowly  towards  them  with 
more  than  her  usual  air  of  dramatic  reserve.  Mr.  Tra- 
}ierne  noticed  that  her  lips  were  even  redder  than  her 


178  RODMOOR 


dress.  Her  e^'es  looked  dark  and  tired  but  they  shone 
with  a  mischievous  menace.  She  held  out  her  hand  se- 
dately and  as  he  took  it,  fumbling  with  his  ulster,  "  I 
hope  you  enjoyed  your  grapes,"  she  said. 

"  You  ought  to  apologize  to  Mr.  Traherne  for  ap- 
pearing before  him  at  all  in  that  wild  costume,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Renshaw.  "  You  wouldn't  think  she'd 
been  at  the  dentist's  all  day,  would  you.?  She  looks 
as  if  she  were  in  a  grand  London  house,  doesn't  she, 
just  waiting  to  go  to  a  ball? 

"  Yes,  at  the  dentist's,"  Mrs.  Renshaw  went  on, 
speaking  quite  loudly,  "  at  the  dentist's  in  Mundham. 
She's  got  an  abscess  under  one  of  her  teeth.  It  kept 
her  awake  in  the  night.  I  think  your  face  is  still  a 
little  swollen,  dear,  isn't  it.'*  She  oughtn't  to  stand  in 
this  cold  hall,  ought  she,  Mr.  Traherne?  And  with  so 
much  of  her  neck  exposed.  It  was  quite  a  large  ab- 
scess. Let  me  look,  dear."  She  moved  towards  her 
daughter,  who  drew  hastily  back. 

"  She  won't  let  me  look  at  it,"  she  added  plaintively. 
"  She  never  would,  not  even  when  she  was  a  child." 

Hamish,  fumbling  with  his  fingers  inside  his  ulster, 
made  a  grotesque  grimace  of  sympathy  and  once  more 
intimated  his  desire  to  say  good-night.  He  discerned 
in  the  look  the  girl  had  now  fixed  upon  her  mother  an 
expression  which  indicated  how  little  sympathy  there 
was  between  them.  It  was  nearly  half  past  nine  when 
he  reached  Rodmoor  and  knocked  at  Baltazar's  door. 
There  was  some  sort  of  village  revel  going  on  inside 
the  tavern  and  the  sound  of  this  blended,  in  inter- 
mittent bursts  of  uproar,  with  the  voices  from  Stork's 
little  sitting-room.     Both  wind  and  rain  had  subsided 


BRAND  RENSHAW  179 


and  the  thunder-feeling  in  the  air  had  grown  less  op- 
pressive. 

Traherne  found  himself,  as  he  had  been  warned,  in 
the  presence  of  Raughty,  Sorio  and  Brand.  Ushered 
in  by  the  urbane  Baltazar  he  greeted  them  all  with  a 
humorous  and  benignant  smile  and  took,  willingly 
enough,  a  cup  of  the  admirable  wine  which  they  were 
drinking.  They  all  seemed,  except  their  host  himself, 
a  little  excited  by  what  they  had  imbibed  and  the  priest 
observed  that  several  other  bottles  waited  the  moment 
of  uncorking.  Dr.  Raughty  alone  appeared  serioush' 
troubled  at  the  new-comer's  entrance.  He  coughed 
several  times,  as  was  his  habit  when  disconcerted,  and 
glanced  anxiously  at  the  others. 

Sorio,  it  seemed,  was  in  the  midst  of  some  sort  of 
diatribe,  and  as  soon  as  they  had  resumed  their  seats 
he  made  no  scruple  about  continuing  it. 

"  It's  all  an  illusion,"  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  Mr. 
Traherne  as  if  he  defied  him  to  contradict  his  words, 
"  it's  all  an  absolute  illusion  that  women  are  more  sub- 
tle than  men.  The  idea  of  their  being  so  is  simply  due 
to  the  fact  that  they  act  on  impulse  instead  of  by  rea- 
son. Any  one  who  acts  on  impulse  appears  subtle  if 
his  impulses  vary  sufficiently !  Women  are  extraordi- 
narily simple.  What  gives  them  the  appearance  of 
subtlety  is  that  they  never  know  what  particular  im- 
pulse they're  going  to  have  next.  So  they  just  lie  back 
on  themselves  and  wait  till  it  comes.  They're  em- 
inently physiological,  too,  in  their  reactions.  Am  I  not 
right  there,  Doctor?  They're  more  entirely  material 
than  we  are,"  he  went  on,  draining  his  glass  with  a 
vicious  gulp,  "  they're  simply  soaked  and  drenched  in 


180  RODMOOR 


matter.  They're  not  really  completely  or  humanly 
conscious.  Matter  still  holds  them,  still  clings  to  them, 
still  drowns  them.  That  is  why  the  poets  represent 
Nature  as  a  woman.  The  sentimental  writers  always 
speak  of  women  as  so  responsive,  so  porous,  to  the 
power  of  Nature.  They  put  it  down  to  their  superior 
sensitiveness.  It  isn't  their  sensitiveness  at  all !  It's 
their  element.  Of  course  they're  porous  to  it.  They're 
part  of  it !  They've  never  emerged  from  it.  It  flows 
round  them  like  waves  round  seaweed.  Take  this  ques- 
tion of  drink  —  of  this  delicious  wine  we're  drinking! 
No  woman  who  ever  lived  could  understand  the  pleas- 
ure we're  enjoying  now  —  a  pleasure  almost  purely  in- 
tellectual. They  think,  in  their  absurd  little  heads, 
that  all  we  get  out  of  it  is  the  mere  sensation  of  put- 
ting hot  stuff  or  sweet  stuff  or  intoxicating  stuff  into 
our  mouths.  They  haven't  the  remotest  idea  that,  as 
we  sit  in  this  way  together,  we  enter  the  company  of  all 
great  and  noble  souls,  philosophizing  upon  the  nature 
of  the  gods  and  sharing  their  quintessential  happiness ! 
They  think  we're  simply  sensual  beasts  —  as  they  are 
themselves,  the  greedy  little  devils !  —  when  they  eat 
pastry  and  suck  sugar-candy  at  the  confectioner's. 
No  woman  yet  understood,  or  ever  will,  the  sublime  de- 
tachment from  life,  the  victory  over  life,  which  an  hon- 
est company  of  sensible  and  self-respecting  friends 
enjoy  when  they  drink,  serenely  and  quietly,  a  wine  as 
rare,  as  well  chosen,  as  harmless  as  this !  Women  hate 
to  think  of  the  happiness  we're  enjo3'ing  now.  I  know 
perfectly  well  that  every  one  of  the  women  who  are 
connected  with  us  at  this  moment  —  and  that  only  ap- 
plies," he  added  with  a  smile,  "  to  Mr.  Renshaw  and 
myself  —  would  suffer  real  misery  to  see  us  at  this  mo- 


BRAXD  RENSHAW  181 

ment.  It's  an  instinct  and  from  their  point  of  view 
they're  justified  fully  enough. 

"  Wine  separates  us  from  Nature.  It  frees  us  from 
sex.  It  sets  us  among  the  gods.  It  destroys  —  yes ! 
—  that's  what  it  does,  it  destroys  our  physiological  fa- 
tality. With  wine  like  this,"  he  raised  his  glass  above 
his  head,  "  we  are  no  longer  the  slaves  of  our  senses  and 
consequently  the  slaves  of  matter.  We  have  freed  our- 
selves from  matter.     We  have  destroyed  matter  1 " 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure,"  said  Doctor  Raughty,  going 
carefully  to  the  fireplace  where,  on  the  fender,  he  had 
deposited  for  later  consumption,  a  saucer  of  brandied 
cherries,  "  I  am  not  sure  whether  you're  right  about 
wine  obliterating  sex.  I've  seen  quite  plain  females,  in 
my  time,  appear  like  so  many  Ninons  and  Thaises  when 
one's  a  bit  shaky.  Of  course  I  know  they  may  appear 
so,"  he  went  on  patiently  and  assiduously  letting  every 
drop  of  juice  evaporate  from  the  skin  of  the  cherry 
he  held  between  his  fingers  before  placing  it  in  his 
mouth,  "  appear  desirable  wenches,  I  mean,  without  our 
having  any  inclination  to  meddle  with  them  but  the  im- 
pulse is  the  same.  At  least,"  he  added  modestly,  "  their 
being  there  does  not  detract  from  the  pleasure." 

He  paused  and,  with  his  head  bent  down  over  his 
cherries,  became  absolutely  oblivious  to  everything  else 
in  the  world.  What  he  was  trying  now  was  the  deli- 
cate experiment  of  dipping  the  fruit,  dried  by  being 
waved  to  and  fro  in  the  air,  in  the  wine-glass  at  his 
side.  As  he  achieved  this  end,  his  cheeks  flushed  and 
nervous  spasmodic  quiverings  twitched  his  expressive 
nostrils. 

"  I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  the  Doctor,"  said  Brand 
Renshaw.     "  It  seems  mere  monkish  nonsense  to  me  to 


182  RODMOOR 


separate  things  that  were  so  obviously  meant  to  go 
together.  I  like  drinking  while  girls  dance  for  me.  I 
like  them  to  dance  on  and  on,  and  on  and  on  till  they're 
tired  out  and  then  — "  He  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden 
crash  which  made  all  the  glasses  ring  and  ting.  Mr. 
Traherne  had  brought  down  his  fist  heavily  upon  the 
rosewood  table. 

"  What  you  people  are  forgetting,"  shouted  the 
priest,  "  is  that  God  is  not  dead.  No !  He's  not  dead, 
even  in  Rodmoor.  Nature,  girls,  wine,  rats, —  are  all 
shadows  in  flickering  water.  Only  one  thing's  eternal 
and  that  is  a  pure  and  loving  heart !  " 

There  was  a  general  and  embarrassed  hush  after  this 
and  the  priest  looked  round  at  the  four  men  with  a 
sort  of  wistful  bewilderment.  Then  an  expression  of 
indescribable  sweetness  came  into  his  face. 

"  Forgive  me,  children,"  he  muttered,  pressing  his 
hand  to  his  forehead.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  be  violent. 
Baltazar,  you  must  have  filled  my  glass  too  quickly. 
No,  no !     I  mustn't  touch  a  drop  more." 

Stork  leaned  forward  towards  him. 

"  We  understand,"  he  said.  "  We  understand  per- 
fectly. You  felt  we  were  going  a  little  too  far.  And 
so  we  were !  These  discourses  about  the  mystery  of 
wine  and  the  secret  of  women  always  betray  one  into 
absurdity.  Adrian  ought  to  have  known  better  than 
to  begin  such  a  thing." 

"  It  was  my  fault,"  repeated  Mr.  Traherne  humbly. 
"  If  you'll  excuse  me  I'll  get  something  out  of  my 
pocket." 

He  rose  and  went  into  the  passage.  Brand  Ren- 
shaw  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  lifted  his  glass  to  his 
lips. 


BRxVND  REXSIIAW  183 

•*  1  bcIiLve  it's  liis  rat,"  whispered  Dr.  Raughtj 
softly.     "  He  lives  too  much  alone." 

The  priest  returned  with  llicoletto  in  his  hand  and 
resuming  his  scat  stroked  the  animal  dreamily.  Bal- 
tazar  looked  from  one  to  another  of  his  guests  and  his 
delicate  features  assumed  a  curious  expression,  an  ex- 
pression as  though  he  isolated  himself  from  them  all 
and  washed  his  hands  of  them  all. 

"  Traherne  refers  to  God,"  he  began  in  a  flutelike 
tone,  "  and  it's  no  more  than  what  he  has  a  right  to  do. 
But  I  should  be  in  a  sorry  position  myself  if  my  only 
escape  from  the  nuisance  of  women  was  to  drag  in 
Eternity.  Our  dear  Adrian,  whose  head  is  always  full 
of  some  girl  or  another,  fancies  he  can  get  out  of  it  by 
drink.  Brand  here  doesn't  want  to  get  out  of  it.  He 
wants  to  play  the  Sultan.  Raughty  —  we  know  what 
an  amorous  fellow  you  are.  Doctor !  —  has  his  own 
fantastic  way  of  drifting  in  and  out  of  the  dangerous 
waters.  I  alone,  of  all  of  you,  have  the  true  key  to 
escape.  For,  between  ourselves,  my  dears,  we  know 
well  enough  that  God  and  Eternity  are  just  Hamish's 
innocent  illusion." 

The  priest  seemed  quite  deaf  to  this  last  remark  but 
Brand  turned  his  hatchet-shaped  head  towards  the 
speaker. 

"  Shut  up,  Tassar,"  he  muttered  harshly,  "  you'll 
start  him  again." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  cried  Sorio.  "  Go  on!  Go 
on  and  tell  us  what  you  mean." 

"  Wait  one  moment,"  intervened  Dr.  Raughty,  "  talk 
of  something  else  for  one  moment.  I  must  cool  my 
head." 

He  put  down  his  pipe  by  the  side  of  his  saucer  of 


184  RODMOOR 


cherries,  arranging  it  with  exquisite  care  so  that  its 
stem  was  higher  than  its  bowl.  Lifting  his  chair,  he 
placed  it  at  a  precise  angle  to  the  table,  returning 
twice  to  add  further  little  touches  to  it  before  he  was 
half-way  to  the  door.  Finally,  laying  down  his  tobacco 
pouch,  lightly  as  a  feather  upon  the  seat  of  the  chair, 
he  rushed  out  of  the  room  and  up  the  stairs. 

"  When  the  Doctor  gets  into  the  bathroom,"  re- 
marked Brand,  "  we  may  as  well  put  him  out  of  our 
minds.  The  last  time  he  dined  with  me  at  Oakguard 
he  nearly  flooded  the  house." 

Mr.  Traherne  pressed  his  rat  to  his  cheek  and 
grinned  like  a  satyr. 

"  None  of  you  people  understand  Fingal,"  he  burst 
out,  "  it's  his  way  of  praying.  Yes,  I  mean  it !  It's 
his  way  of  saying  his  prayers.  He  does  it  just  as 
Ricoletto  does.  It's  ritual  with  him.  I  understand 
it  perfectly." 

The  conversation  at  this  point  seemed  to  have  a 
peculiarly  irritating  effect  upon  Sorio.  He  fidgeted 
and  looked  about  him  uneasily.  Presently  he  made  an 
extraordinary  gesture  with  one  of  his  hands,  opening 
it,  extending  the  fingers  stiffly  back  and  then  closing  it 
again.  Baltazar,  watching  him  closely,  remarked  at 
last, 

"What's  on  your  mind  now,  Adriano?  Any  new 
obsession  "i  " 

They  all  looked  at  the  Italian.  His  heavy  "  Roman- 
Emperor  "  face  quivered  through  all  its  muscles. 

"  It's  not  ritual,"  he  muttered  gloomily,  "  you'd  bet- 
ter not  ask  me  what  it  is  for  I  know!  " 

Brand  Renshaw  smiled  a  cruel  smile. 


BRAND  RENSIIAW  185 

"  He  means  that  it's  madness,''  he  remarked  care- 
lessly, "  and  I  dare  say  he's  quite  right." 

"  Fingal  Raughty's  not  mad,"  protested  Mr.  Tra- 
herne,  "  I  tell  you  he  bathes  himself  just  as  my  rat 
does  —  to  praise  God  and  purge  his  sins !  " 

"  I  wasn't  thinking  about  the  Doctor,"  said  Brand 
quietly,  the  same  cruel  gleam  in  his  eyes.  "  Mr.  Sorio 
knows  what  I  meant." 

The  Italian  made  a  movement  as  if  he  were  about  to 
leap  upon  him  and  strike  him,  but  the  reappearance  of 
Fingal,  his  cheeks  shining  and  his  face  softly  irradi- 
ated, distracted  the  general  attention. 

"  You'd  begun  to  tell  us,  Stork,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"  what  your  escape  is  from  the  sting  of  sensuality. 
You  wipe  out,  altogether,  you  say,  God  and  Eter- 
nity?" 

Baltazar's  feminine  features  hardened  as  if  under  a 
thin  mask  of  enamel.  Brand  shot  a  malignant  glance 
at  him. 

"  I  can  answer  that,"  he  said,  with  venomous  bitter- 
ness. "  Tassar  thinks  himself  an  artist,  you  know. 
He  despises  the  whole  lot  of  us  as  numbskulls  and 
Philistines.  He'll  tell  you  that  art's  the  great  thing 
and  that  critics  of  art  know  much  more  about  it  than 
the  damned  fools  who  do  it,  all  there  is  to  be  known, 
in  fact." 

Baltazar's  expression  as  he  listened  to  his  half- 
brother's  speech  was  a  palimpsest  of  conflicting  emo- 
tions. The  look  that  predominated,  however,  was  the 
look  of  a  woman  under  the  lash,  waiting  her  hour.  He 
smiled  lightly  enough  and  gesticulated  with  his  delicate 
hand. 


186  RODMOOR 


"  We  all  have  our  secret,"  he  declared  gaily. 
"  Brand  thinks  he  knows  mine  but  he's  as  far  from 
knowing  it  as  that  new  moon  over  there  is  from  knowing 
the  secret  of  the  tide." 

His  words  caused  them  to  glance  at  the  window. 
The  clouds  had  vanished  and  the  thin  ghostly  crescent 
peered  at  them  from  between  the  curtains. 

"  The  tide  obeys  it,"  he  added  significantly,  "  but  it 
keeps  its  own  counsel." 

"  And  it  has,"  put  in  Sorio  fiercely,  "  depths  below 
depths  which  it  were  better  for  no  corpse-world  to  in- 
terfere with ! " 

Dr.  Raughty,  who  had  cleared  his  throat  uneasily 
several  times  during  the  last  few  moments,  now  called 
the  attention  of  the  company  to  a  scorched  moth  which, 
hurt  by  one  of  the  candles,  lay  shuddering  upon  the 
edge  of  the  table. 

"Hasn't  it  exquisite  markings?"  he  said,  touching 
the  creature  with  the  tip  of  his  forefinger,  and  bend- 
ing forward  over  it  like  a  lover.  "  It's  a  puss-moth ! 
I  wish  I  had  my  killing-bottle  here.  I'd  keep  it  for 
Horace  Pod." 

Sorio  suddenly  leapt  from  his  seat  and  made  a  snatch 
at  the  moth. 

"  Shame !  "  he  cried,  addressing  indiscriminately  the 
Doctor,  Horace  Pod  and  the  universe.  "  Poor  little 
thing!"  he  added,  seizing  it  in  his  fist  and  carrying  it 
to  the  window.  When,  with  some  difficulty  and  many 
muttered  imprecations  he  had  flung  it  out,  "  it  tickled 
me,"  he  remarked  gravely.  "  Moths  flutter  so  in  your 
hand." 

"  Most  things  flutter,"  remarked  Brand,  "  when  you 
try  to  get  rid  of  them.     Some  of  them,"  he  added  in  a 


BRAND  REXSHAW  187 

significant  tone,  "'  don't  confine  themselves  to  flutter- 
ing. 

The  incident  of  the  moth  seemed  to  break  up,  more 
than  any  of  the  preceding  interruptions,  the  harmony 
of  the  evening.  Dr.  Raughty,  looking  nervously  at 
Sorio  and  replacing  his  pipe  in  his  pocket,  announced 
that  he  intended  to  depart.  Brand  Renshaw  rose  too 
and  with  him,  Mr.  Traherne. 

"May  I  walk  with  you  a  little  way?"  said  the 
priest. 

The  master  of  Oakguard  stared  at  him  blankly. 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  he  replied,  "  but  I'm  afraid 
it'll  take  you  out  of  your  road." 

It  was  some  time  before  they  got  clear  of  the  house 
as  Baltazar  with  a  thousand  delicate  attentions  to  each 
of  them  and  all  manner  of  lively  speeches,  did  his  best, 
in  the  stir  of  their  separation,  to  smooth  over  and 
obliterate  from  their  minds  the  various  little  shocks 
that  had  ruffled  his  entertainment.  They  got  away, 
however,  at  last  and  Brand  and  the  priest,  bidding  the 
rest  good  night,  took  the  road  to  the  park.  The  sky 
as  they  entered  the  park  gates  was  clear  and  starry 
and  the  dark  trees  of  the  avenue  up  which  they  walked, 
rose  beside  them  in  immovable  stillness. 

Mr.  Traherne,  putting  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of 
his  ulster  to  derive  courage  from  contact  with  his  pet, 
plunged  without  preamble  into  the  heart  of  the  perilous 
subject. 

"  You  may  not  know,  Renshaw,"  he  said,  "  that  Miss 
Herrick  and  her  sister  are  leaving  Dyke  House  and 
are  going  to  live  in  the  village.  Nance  has  got  work 
at  Miss  Pontifex'  and  Linda  is  going  to  play  the  organ 
regularly    for   me.     I    believe    there's   been   something 


188  RODMOOR 


• —  lately  " —  he  hesitated  and  his  voice  shook  a  lit- 
tle but,  recovering  himself  with  a  tremendous  effort, 
"  something,"  he  went  on,  "  between  Linda  and  your- 
self. Now,  of  course,  in  any  other  case  I  should  be 
very  reluctant  to  say  anything.  Interference  in  these 
things  is  usually  both  impertinent  and  useless.  But 
this  case  is  quite  different.  The  girl  is  a  young  girl. 
She  has  no  parents.  Her  sister  is  herself  quite  young 
and  they  are  both,  in  a  sense,  dependent  on  me  as  the 
priest  of  this  place  for  all  the  protection  I  can  give. 
I  feel  responsible  for  these  girls,  Renshaw,  responsible 
for  them,  and  no  feelings  of  a  personal  kind  with  re- 
gard to  any  one,"  here  he  squeezed  Ricoletto  so  tightly 
that  the  rat  emitted  a  frightened  little  squeal,  "  shall 
interfere  with  what  I  feel  is  my  duty.  No,  hear  me 
out,  hear  me  out,  Renshaw ! "  he  continued  hurriedly, 
as  his  companion  began  to  speak.  "  The  matter  is  one 
about  which  we  need  not  mind  being  quite  open.  I  want 
you,  in  fact,  to  promise  me  —  to  promise  me  on  your 
word  of  honour  —  that  you'll  leave  this  child  alone. 
I  don't  know  how  far  things  have  gone  between  you.  I 
can't  imagine,  it  would  be  shameful  to  imagine,  that  it 
has  gone  beyond  a  flirtation.  But  whatever  it  has  been, 
it  must  stop  now.  It's  only  your  word  of  honour  I 
want,  nothing  but  your  word  of  honour,  and  I  can't 
believe  you'll  hesitate,  as  a  gentleman,  to  give  me  that. 
You'll  give  me  that,  won't  you,  Renshaw?  Just  say 
yes  and  the  matter's  closed." 

He  removed  his  hand  from  his  pocket  and  laid  it  on 
his  companion's  wrist.  Brand  was  sufficiently  cool  at 
that  moment  to  remark  as  an  interesting  fact  that  the 
priest  was  trembling.  Not  only  was  he  trembling  but 
as  he  removed  his  hat  to  give  further  solemnity  to  his 


BRAND  RENSHAW  189 

appeal,  large  drops  of  perspiration,  known  only  to 
himself,  for  darkness  dimmed  his  face,  trickled  down 
into  his  eyes.  Brand  quietly  freed  himself  and  moved 
back  a  step. 

"  I'm  not  in  the  least  surprised,"  he  said,  "  at  your 
speaking  to  me  like  this,  and  strange  as  it  may  seem  it 
does  not  annoy  me.  In  fact  it  pleases  me.  I  like  it. 
It  raises  the  value  of  the  girl  —  of  Linda,  I  mean  — 
and  it  makes  me  respect  you.  But  if  you  imagine,  my 
good  Mr.  Traherne,  that  I'm  going  to  make  any  such 
promise  as  you  describe,  you  can  have  no  more  notion 
of  what  I'm  like  than  you  have  of  what  Linda's  like. 
Talk  to  her,  Hamish  Traherne,  talk  to  her,  and  see 
what  she  says  !  " 

The  priest  clenched  his  fingers  round  the  handle  of 
his  oak  stick.  He  felt  rising  in  him  a  tide  of  natural 
human  anger.  Mentally  he  prayed  to  his  God  that 
he  might  retain  his  self-control  and  not  make  matters 
worse  by  violence. 

"  If  it  interests  you  to  know,"  Brand  continued,  "  I 
may  tell  you  that  it's  quite  possible  I  shall  marry  Linda. 
She  attracts  me,  I  confess  it  freely,  more  than  I  could 
possibi}'  explain  to  you  or  to  any  one.  I  presume  you 
wouldn't  carry  your  responsibility  so  far  as  to  make 
trouble  about  my  marrying  her,  eh?  But  that's  noth- 
ing. That's  neither  here  nor  there.  Married  or  un- 
married, I  do  what  I  please.  Do  I  convey  my  mean- 
ing sufficiently  clearly  ?  I  —  do  —  what  —  I  —  please. 
Let  that  be  your  clue  henceforth,  Mr.  Hamish  Tra- 
herne, and  the  clue  of  everybody  else  in  Rodmoor,  in 
dealing  with  me.  Listen  to  me,  sir.  I  do  you  the  hon- 
our of  talking  more  openly  to  you  to-night  than  I'm 
ever  likely  to  talk  again.     Perhaps  you  have  the  idea 


190  RODMOOR 


that  I'm  a  mere  commonplace  sensualist,  snatching  at 
every  animal  pleasure  that  comes  my  way?  Perhaps 
you  fancy  I've  a  vicious  —  what  do  you  call  it?  — 
'penchant' — for  the  seduction  of  young  girls?  Let 
me  tell  you  this,  Mr.  Hamish,  a  thing  that  may  some- 
what surprise  you.  I've  walked  these  woods  till  I  know 
every  scent  in  them  by  night  and  day  —  do  you  catch 
that  fungus-smell  now?  That's  one  of  the  smells  I 
love  best  of  all !  —  and  in  these  walks,  absolutely  alone, 

—  I  love  being  alone !  —  I've  faced  possibilities  of  evil 

—  faced  them  and  resisted  them,  mind  you !  —  com- 
pared with  which  these  mere  normal  sexual  lapses  we're 
talking  about  are  silly  child's  play !  Linda  does  me 
good.  Do  you  hear?  She  does  me  good.  She  saves 
me  from  things  that  never  in  your  wildest  dreams  you'd 
suppose  any  one  capable  of.  Oh,  you  priests !  You 
priests !  You  shut  yourselves  up  among  your  cruci- 
fixes and  your  little  books,  and  meanwhile  —  beyond 
your  furthest  imagination  —  the  great  tides  of  evil 
sweep  backwards  and  forwards !  Listen !  I  needn't 
tell  you  what  that  sound  is?  Yes  —  you  can  hear  it. 
In  every  part  of  this  place  you  can  hear  it!  I  was 
born  to  that  tune,  Traherne,  and  I  shall  die  to  that 
tune.  It's  better  than  rustling  leaves,  isn't  it?  It's 
deeper.  It's  the  kind  of  music  a  man  might  have  in  his 
head  when  doing  something  compared  with  which  such 
little  sins  as  you're  blaming  me  for  are  virtues !  Did 
you  see  that  bat?  I've  watched  them  under  these  trees 
from  midnight  to  morning.  A  bat  in  the  light  of  dawn 
is  a  curious  thing  to  see.  Do  you  like  bats,  Mr.  Tra- 
herne, or  do  you  confine  yourself  to  rats? 

"  Bah !     I'm  talking  like  an  idiot.     But  what  I  want 
you  to  understand  is  this.     When  you're  dealing  with 


BRAND  RENSHAW  191 

me,  you  are  dealing  with  some  one  wlio's  lost  the  power 
of  being  frightened  by  words,  some  one  who's  broken 
the  world's  crust  and  peeped  behind  it,  some  one  who's 
seen  the  black  pools  —  did  you  guess  there  were  black 
pools  in  this  world?  —  and  has  seen  the  red  stains  in 
them  and  who  knows  what  caused  those  stains !  Damn 
it  all  —  Hamish  Traherne  —  what  did  you  take  me  for 
when  you  talked  to  me  like  that?  A  common,  sensual 
pig?  A  vulgar  seducer  of  children?  A  fellow  to  be 
frightened  back  into  the  fold  by  talk  of  honour  and 
the  manners  of  gentlemen?  I  tell  you  Vve  seen  hats  in 
the  dawn  —  and  seen  them  too,  with  images  in  my  mem- 
ory that  only  that  sound  —  do  you  hear  it  still?  — 
could  equal  for  horror. 

"  It's  because  Linda  knows  the  horror  of  the  sea 
that  I  love  her.  I  love  to  lead  her  to  it,  to  feel  her 
draw  back  and  not  to  let  her  draw  back !  And  she 
loves  me  ior  the  same  reason!  That's  a  fact,  Mr. 
Hamish,  that  may  be  hard  for  you  to  realize.  Linda 
and  I  understand  each  other.  Do  you  hear  that,  you 
lover  of  rats?  We  understand  each  other.  She  does 
me  good.  She  distracts  me.  She  keeps  those  black 
pools  out  of  my  mind.  She  keeps  Philippa's  eyes  from 
following  me  about.  She  takes  the  taste  of  funguses 
out  of  my  mouth.  She  suits  me,  I  tell  you !  She's 
what  I  need.     She's  what  I  need  and  must  have ! 

"  Bah !  I'm  chattering  like  an  idiot.  I  must  be 
drunk.  I  am  drunk.  But  that's  nothing.  That's  one 
of  the  vices  that  are  my  virtues.  I'll  tell  you  another 
thing,  while  I'm  about  it,  Hamish  Traherne.  You've 
wondered  sometimes,  I  expect,  why  I'm  so  good  to 
Baltazar.  Quite  Christian  of  me,  you've  thought  it, 
eh?     Quite  noble  and  Christian  —  considering  what  he 


192  RODMOOR 


is  and  wliat  I  am?  That  just  shows  how  little  you 
know  us,  how  little  you  know  either  of  us !  Tassar  can 
no  more  get  away  from  me  than  I  can  get  away  from 
him.  We're  bound  together  for  life,  my  boy,  bound 
together  by  what  those  black  pools  mean  and  what 
that  sound  —  you  wouldn't  think  you  could  hear  it 
here,  would  you  ?  —  never  stops  meaning. 

"  Bah !  I'm  drunk  as  a  pig  to-night !  I've  not 
talked  like  this  to  any  one,  not  for  years.  Listen,  Tra- 
herne!  You  have  an  ugly  face  but  you're  not  a  fool. 
Wasn't  it  Saint  Augustine  who  said  once  that  evil  was 
a  mere  rent  in  the  cloak  of  goodness?  The  simple  in- 
nocent !  I  tell  you,  evil  goes  down  to  the  bottom  of 
life  and  out  beyond !  I  know  that,  for  I've  gone  with 
it.     Fve  seen  the  bats  in  the  dawn. 

"  Yes,  Tassar's  gone  far,  Hamish  Traherne,  farther 
than  you  guess.  Sometimes  I  think  he's  gone  farther 
than  /  guess.  He  never  talks,  you  know.  You'll  never 
catch  him  drunk.  Tassar  could  look  the  devil  in  the 
face,  and  worse,  and  keep  his  pretty  head  cool !  —  Oh, 
damn  it  all,  Traherne,  it's  not  easy  for  a  person  never 
to  open  his  mouth !  But  Tassar's  got  the  secret  of 
that.  He  must  get  it  from  my  father.  There  was  a 
man  for  you !  You  wouldn't  have  dared  to  talk  to  him 
like  this." 

Several  times  during  this  long  outburst,  Mr.  Tra- 
herne's  fingers  had  caused  pain  to  Ricoletto.  But  now 
he  flung  out  his  long  arms  and  clutched  Brand  fiercely  by 
the  shoulders. 

"  Pray  —  you  poor  lost  soul,"  he  shouted,  "  pray 
the  great  God  above  us  to  have  mercy  upon  you  and 
have  mercy  upon  us  all !  " 

His  arms  trembled  as  he  uttered  these  words  and, 


BRAND  REXSHAW  193 

hardly  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  he  shook  the 
heavy  frame  of  the  man  before  him  backwards  and  for- 
wards as  if  he  had  been  a  child  in  his  hands.  There 
was  dead  silence  for  several  seconds  and,  unheeded  by 
either  of  them,  a  weasel  ran  furtively  across  the  path 
and  disappeared  among  the  trees.  The  damp  odours  of 
moss  and  leaf-mould  rose  up  around  them  and,  between 
the  motionless  branches  above,  the  stars  shone  like  pin- 
pricks through  black  parchment.  Suddenly  Brand 
broke  away  with  a  harsh  laugh. 

"  Enough  of  this !  "  he  cried.  "  We've  had  enough 
melodramatic  nonsense  for  one  night.  You'd  better  go 
back  to  bed,  Traherne,  or  you'll  be  oversleeping  your- 
self to-morrow  and  my  mother  will  miss  her  matins." 

He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Good  night!  —  and  sleep  soundly!"  he  added,  in 
his  accustomed  dull,  sarcastic  tone. 

The  priest  sighed  heavily  and  groped  about  on  the 
ground  for  the  hat  he  had  dropped.  Just  as  he  had 
secured  it  and  was  moving  off.  Brand  called  out  to  him 
laughingly, 

"  Don't  you  believe  a  word  of  what  I  said  just  now. 
I'm  not  drunk  at  all.  I  was  only  fooling.  I'm  just  a 
common  ruffian  who  knows  a  pretty  face  when  he  sees 
it.  Talk  to  Linda  about  me  and  see  what  she  says !  " 
He  strode  off  up  the  avenue  and  the  priest  turned  heav- 
ily on  his  heeh 


XV 

BROKEN  VOICES 

NANCE  and  Linda  were  not  long  In  growing 
accustomed  to  their  new  mode  of  life.  Nance, 
after  her  London  experiences,  found  Miss 
Pontifex'  little  work-room,  looking  out  on  a  pleasant 
garden,  a  place  of  refuge  rather  than  of  irksome  labour. 
The  young  girls  under  her  charge  were  good-tempered 
and  docile ;  and  Miss  Pontifex  herself  —  an  excitable 
little  woman  with  extravagantly  genteel  manners,  and 
a  large  Wedgewood  brooch  under  her  chin  —  seemed 
to  think  that  the  girl's  presence  in  the  establishment 
would  redound  immensely  to  its  reputation  and  dis- 
tinction. 

"  I'm  a  conservative  born  and  bred,"  she  remarked  to 
Nance,  "  and  I  can  toll  a  lady  out  of  a  thousand.  I 
won't  say  what  I  might  say  about  the  people  here. 
But  we  know  —  we  know  what  we  think." 

Nance's  intimate  knowledge  of  the  more  recondite 
aspects  of  the  trade  took  an  immense  load  off  the  little 
dressmaker's  mind.  She  had  more  time  to  devote  to 
her  garden,  which  was  her  deepest  passion,  and  it 
filled  her  with  pride  to  be  able  to  say  to  her  friends, 
"  Miss  Herrick  from  Dyke  House  works  with  me  now. 
Her  father  was  a  Captain  in  the  Royal  Navy." 

The  month  of  July  went  by  without  any  further  agi- 
tating incidents.     As  far  as  Nance  knew,  Brand  left 

Linda  in  peace,  and  the  young  girl,  though  looking 

194 


BROKEN  VOICES  195 

weary  and  spiritless,  seemed  to  be  reconciling  herself 
fairly  well  to  the  loss  of  him  and  to  be  deriving  definite 
distraction  and  satisfaction  from  her  progress  in  organ- 
playing.  Day  by  day  in  the  early  afternoon,  she 
would  cross  the  bridge,  under  all  changes  of  the  weather, 
and  make  her  way  to  the  church.  Her  mornings  were 
spent  in  household  duties,  so  that  her  sister  might  be 
free  to  give  her  whole  time  to  the  work  in  the  shop, 
and  in  the  evenings,  when  it  was  pleasant  to  be  out  of 
doors,  they  both  helped  Miss  Pontifex  watering  her 
phloxes  and  delphiniums. 

Nance  herself  —  as  July  drew  to  its  close  and  the 
wheat  fields  turned  yellow  —  was  at  once  happier  and 
less  happy  in  her  relations  with  Sorio.  Her  happiness 
came  from  the  fact  that  he  treated  her  now  more  gently 
and  considerately  than  he  had  ever  done  before ;  her 
unhappiness  from  the  fact  that  he  had  grown  more  re- 
served and  a  queer  sort  of  nervous  depression  seemed 
hanging  over  him.  She  knew  he  still  saw  Philippa,  but 
what  the  relations  between  the  two  were,  or  how  far  any 
lasting  friendship  had  arisen  between  them,  it  was  im- 
possible to  discover.  They  certainly  never  met  now, 
under  conditions  open  to  the  intrusion  of  Rodmoor 
scandal. 

Nance  went  more  than  once,  before  July  was  over, 
to  see  Rachel  Doorm,  and  the  days  when  these  visits  oc- 
curred were  the  darkest  and  saddest  of  all  she  passed 
through  during  that  time.  The  mistress  of  Dyke 
House  seemed  to  be  rapidly  degenerating.  Nance  was 
horrified  to  find  how  inert  and  indifferent  to  everything 
she  had  come  to  be.  The  interior  of  the  house  was  now 
as  dusty  and  untidy  as  the  garden  was  desolate,  and 
judging  from  her  manner  on  the  last  visit  she  paid,  the 


196  RODMOOR 


girl  began  to  fear  she  had  found  the  same  solace  in  her 
loneliness  as  that  which  consoled  her  father. 

Nance  made  one  desperate  attempt  to  improve  mat- 
ters. Without  saying  anything  to  Miss  Doorm,  she 
carried  with  her  to  the  house  one  of  Mrs.  Raps'  own 
buxom  daughters,  who  was  quite  prepared,  for  an  in- 
finitesimal compensation,  to  go  every  day  to  help  her. 
But  this  arrangement  collapsed  hopelessly.  On  the 
third  day  after  her  first  appearance,  the  young  woman 
returned  to  her  home,  and  with  indignant  tears  declared 
she  had  been  "  thrown  out  of  the  nasty  place." 

One  evening  at  the  end  of  the  month,  just  as  the 
sisters  were  preparing  to  go  out  for  a  stroll  together, 
their  landlady,  with  much  effusion  and  agitation, 
ushered  in  Mrs.  Renshaw.  Tired  with  walking,  and 
looking  thinner  and  whiter  than  usual,  she  seemed  ex- 
trcmel}^  glad  to  sit  down  on  their  little  sofa  and  sip  the 
raspberry  vinegar  which  Nance  hastened  to  prepare. 
She  ate  some  biscuits,  too,  as  if  she  were  faint  for  want 
of  food,  but  all  the  time  she  ate  there  was  in  her  air  an 
apologetic,  deprecatory  manner,  as  though  eating  had 
been  a  gross  vice  or  as  though  never  in  her  life  before 
had  she  eaten  in  public.  She  kept  imploring  Nance  to 
share  the  refreshment,  and  it  was  not  until  the  girl  made 
at  least  a  pretence  of  doing  so  that  she  seemed  to  re- 
cover her  peace  of  mind. 

Her  great,  hollow,  brown  eyes  kept  surveying  the  lit- 
tle apartment  with  nervous  admiration.  "  I  like  it 
here,"  she  remarked  at  last.  "  I  like  little  rooms  much 
better  than  large  ones."  She  picked  up  from  the  table 
a  well-worn  copy  of  Palgrave's  "  Golden  Treasury  "  and 
Nance  had  never  seen  her  face  light  up  so  suddenly  as 
when,  turning  the  pages  at  random,  she  chanced  upon 


BROKEN  VOICES  197 

Keats'  "  Ode  to  Autumn."  "  I  know  that  by  heart," 
she  said,  "  every  word  of  it.  I  used  to  teach  it  to 
Philippa.  You've  no  idea  how  nicely  she  used  to  say 
it.  But  she  doesn't  care  for  poetry  any  more.  She 
reads  more  learned  books,  more  clever  books  now.  She's 
got  beyond  me.  Both  my  children  have  got  beyond 
me."  She  sighed  heavily  and  Nance,  with  a  sense  of 
horrible  pity,  seemed  to  visualize  her  —  happy  in  little 
rooms  and  with  little  anthologies  of  old-world  verse  — 
condemned  to  the  devastating  isolation  of  Oakguard. 

"  I  see  you've  got  '  The  Bride  of  Lammermoor  '  up 
there,"  she  remarked  presently,  and  rising  impetuously 
from  her  seat  on  the  sofa,  she  took  the  book  in  her 
hands.  Nance  never  forgot  the  way  she  touched  it,  or 
the  infinite  softness  that  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  mur- 
mured, "  Poor  Lucy  !  Poor  Lucy  !  "  and  began  turn- 
ing the  pages. 

Suddenly  another  book  caught  her  attention  and  she 
took  down  "  Humphrey  Clinker "  from  the  shelf. 
"  Oh ! "  she  cried,  a  faint  flush  coming  into  her  sunken 
cheeks,  "  I  haven't  seen  that  book  for  years  and  years. 
I  used  to  read  it  before  I  was  married.  I  think  Smol- 
lett was  a  very  great  writer,  don't  you?  But  I  sup- 
pose young  people  nowadays  find  him  too  simple  for 
their  taste.  That  poor  dear  Mr.  Bramble !  And  all 
that  part  about  Tabitha,  too !  I  seem  to  remember  it 
all.  I  believe  Dickens  used  to  like  Smollett.  At  least, 
I  think  I  read  somewhere  that  he  did.  I  expect  he  liked 
that  wonderful  mixture  of  humour  and  pathos,  though 
of  course,  when  it  comes  to  that,  I  suppose  none  of 
them  can  equal  Dickens  himself." 

As  Mrs.  Renshaw  uttered  these  words  and  caressed 
the  tattered  volume  she  held  as  if  it  had  been  made  of 


198  RODMOOR 


pure  gold,  her  face  became  irradiated  with  a  look  of 
such  innocent  and  guileless  spirituality,  that  Nance,  in 
a  hurried  act  of  mental  contrition,  wiped  out  of  her 
memory  every  moment  when  she  had  not  loved  her. 
"  What  she  must  suffer !  "  the  girl  said  to  herself  as 
she  watched  her.  "  What  she  must  have  suffered  — 
with  those  people  in  that  great  house." 

Mrs.  Renshaw  sighed  as  she  replaced  the  book  in  the 
shelf.  "  Writers  seem  to  have  got  so  clever  in  these 
last  years,"  she  said  plaintively.  "  They  use  so  many 
long  words.  I  wonder  where  they  get  them  from  — 
out  of  dictionaries,  do  you  think  P — and  they  hurt  me, 
they  hurt  me,  by  the  way  they  speak  of  our  beloved 
religion.  They  can't  all  of  them  be  great  philosophers 
like  Spinoza  and  Schopenhauer,  can  they.?  They  can't 
all  of  them  be  going  to  give  the  world  new  and  com- 
forting thoughts.'*  I  don't  like  their  sharp,  snappy, 
sarcastic  tone.  And  oh,  Nance  dear !  " —  she  returned 
to  her  seat  on  the  sofa  — "  I  can't  bear  their  slang ! 
Why  is  it  that  they  feel  they  must  use  so  much  slang, 
do  you  think.''  I  suppose  they  want  to  make  their 
books  seem  real,  but  /  don't  hear  real  people  talking 
like  that.  But  perhaps  it  comes  from  America.  Amer- 
ican writers  seem  extraordinarily  clever,  and  American 
dictionaries  —  for  Dr.  Raughty  showed  me  one  —  seem 
much  bigger  than  ours," 

She  was  silent  for  a  while  and  then,  looking  gently 
at  Linda,  "  I  think  it's  wonderful,  dear,  how  well  you 
play  now.  I  thought  last  Sunday  evening  you  played 
the  hymns  better  than  I've  ever  heard  them !  But  they 
were  beautiful  hymns,  weren't  they?  That  last  one 
was  my  favourite  of  all." 

Once  more  she  was  silent,  and  Nance  seemed  to  catch 


BROKEN  VOICES 199 

her  lips  moving,  as  she  fixed  iicr  great  sorrowful  e^'es 
upon  the  book-shelf,  and  began  slowly  pulling  on  her 
gloves. 

"  I  must  be  going  now,"  she  said,  with  a  little  sigh. 
"  I  thank  you  for  the  raspberry  vinegar  and  the  bis- 
cuits. I  think  I  was  tired.  I  didn't  sleep  very  well 
last  night.  Good-bye,  dears.  No,  don't,  please,  come 
down.  I  can  let  myself  out.  It's  a  lovely  evening, 
isn't  it,  and  the  poppies  in  the  cornfields  arc  quite  red 
now.  I  can  see  a  big  patch  of  them  from  our  terrace, 
just  across  the  river.  Poppies  always  make  me  think 
of  the  days  when  I  was  a  young  girl.  We  used  to  think 
a  lot  of  them  then.  We  used  to  make  fairies  out  of 
them." 

Nance  insisted  on  seeing  her  into  the  street.  When 
she  entered  the  room  again,  she  w^as  not  altogether  sur- 
prised to  find  Linda  convulsed  with  sobs.  "  I  can't  — 
I  can't  help  it,"  gasped  the  young  girl.  "  She's  too 
pitiful.  She's  too  sad.  You  feel  you  want  to  hug  her 
and  hug  her,  but  you're  afraid  even  to  touch  her  hand !  " 
She  made  an  effort  to  recover  herself,  and  then,  with 
the  tears  still  on  her  cheeks,  "  Nance  dear,"  she  said 
solemnly,  "  I  don't  believe  she'll  live  to  the  end  of  this 
year.  I  believe,  one  of  these  days,  when  the  Autumn 
comes,  we  shall  hear  she's  been  found  dead  in  her  bed. 
Nance,  listen !  " —  and  the  young  girl's  voice  became 
awe-struck  and  very  solemn  — "  won't  it  be  dreadful 
for  tliose  two,  over  there,  when  they  find  her  like  that, 
and  feel  how  little  thev-'ve  done  to  make  her  happy? 
Can't  ycu  imagine  it,  Nance.'*  The  wind  wailing  and 
wailing  round  that  house,  and  she  lying  there  all  white 
and  dreadful  —  and  Philippa  with  a  candle  standing 
over  her  — " 


200  RODMOOR 


"  Why  do  you  say  '  with  a  candle  '  ?  "  said  Nance 
brusquely.  "  You're  talking  wildly  and  exaggerating 
everything.  If  they  found  her  in  the  morning,  like 
that,  Philippa  wouldn't  come  with  a  candle." 

Linda  stared  dreamily  out  of  the  window.  "  No,  I 
suppose  not,"  she  said,  "  and  yet  I  can't  see  it  without 
Philippa  holding  a  candle.  And  there's  something  else 
I  see,  too,"  she  added  in  a  lower  voice. 

"  I  don't  want  — "  Nance  began  and  then,  more  gen- 
tly, "  What  else,  you  silly  child?  " 

"  Philippa's  red  lips,"  she  murmured  softly,  "  red 
as  if  she'd  put  rouge  on  them.  Do  you  think  she  ever 
does  put  rouge  on  them?  That's,  I  suppose,  what 
made  me  think  of  the  candle.  I  seemed  to  see  it  flick- 
ering against  her  mouth.  Oh,  I'm  silly  —  I'm  silly,  I 
know,  but  I  couldn't  help  seeing  it  like  that  —  her  lips, 
I  mean." 

"  You're  morbid  to-day,  Linda,"  said  Nance  ab- 
ruptly. "  Well  ?  Shall  we  go  to  the  garden  ?  I  feel 
as  though  carrying  watering-pots  and  doing  weeding 
will  be  good  for  both  of  us." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on  between  the 
sisters  in  their  High  Street  lodging,  Sorio  and  Baltazar 
were  seated  together  on  a  bench  by  the  harbour's  side. 
The  tide  was  flowing  in  and  cool  sea-breaths,  mixed  with 
the  odour  of  tar  and  paint  and  fisherman's  tobacco, 
floated  in  upon  them  as  they  talked. 

"  It's  absurd  to  have  any  secrets  between  you  and 
me,"  Sorio  was  saying,  his  face  reflecting  the  light  of 
the  sunset  as  it  poured  down  the  river's  surface  to 
where  they  sat.  "  When  I  become  quite  impossible  to 
you  as  a  companion,  I  suppose  you'll  tell  me  so  and 


BROKEN  VOICES 201 

turn  me  out.  But  until  then  I'm  going  to  assume  that 
I  interest  you  and  don't  bore  you." 

"  It  isn't  a  question  of  boring  any  one,"  replied  the 
other.  "You  annoyed  me  just  now  because  I  thought 
you  were  making  no  effort  to  control  yourself.  You 
seemed  trying  to  rake  up  every  repulsive  sensation 
you've  ever  had  and  thrust  it  down  my  throat.  Bored.'* 
Certainly  I  wasn't  bored!  On  the  contrary,  I  was 
much  more  what  you  might  call  bitten.  You  go  so 
far,  my  dear,  you  go  so  far !  " 

"  I  don't  call  that  going  far  at  all,"  said  Sorio  sulk- 
ily. "  What's  the  use  of  living  together  if  we  can't 
talk  of  everything.^  Besides,  you  didn't  let  me  finish. 
What  I  wanted  to  say  was  that  for  some  reason  or 
other,  I've  lately  got  to  a  point  when  every  one  I  meet 
—  every  mortal  person,  and  especially  every  stranger  — 
strikes  me  as  odious  and  disgusting.  I've  had  the  feel- 
ing before  but  never  quite  like  this.  It's  not  a  pleas- 
ant feeling,  my  dear,  I  can  assure  you  of  that !  " 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  —  what  do  you  mean  by 
odious  and  disgusting?"  threw  in  the  other.  "  I  sup- 
pose they're  made  in  the  same  way  we  are.  Flesh  and 
blood  is  flesh  and  blood,  after  all." 

As  Baltazar  said  this,  what  he  thought  in  his  mind 
was  much  as  follows :  "  Adriano  is  evidently  going 
mad  again.  This  kind  of  thing  is  one  of  the  symptoms. 
I  like  having  him  here  with  me.  I  like  looking  at  his 
face  when  he's  excited.  He  has  a  beautiful  face  —  it's 
more  purely  antique  in  its  moulding  than  half  the  an- 
cient cameos.  I  especially  like  looking  at  him  when 
he's  harassed  and  outraged.  He  has  a  dilapidated 
wistfulness  at  those  times  which  exactly  suits  my  taste. 


202  RODMOOR 


I  should  miss  Adriano  frightfully  if  he  went  away.  No 
one  I've  ever  lived  with  suits  me  better.  I  can  annoy 
him  when  I  like  and  I  can  appease  him  when  I  like.  He 
fills  me  with  a  delicious  sense  of  power.  If  only  Phil- 
ippa  would  leave  him  alone,  and  that  Herrick  girl 
would  stop  persecuting  him,  he'd  suit  me  perfectly.  I 
like  him  when  his  nerves  are  quivering  and  twitching. 
I  like  the  *  wounded-animal  look '  he  has  then.  But 
it's  these  accursed  girls  who  spoil  it  all.  Of  course  it's 
their  work,  this  new  mania.  They  carry  everything  so 
far !  I  like  him  to  get  wild  and  desperate  but  I  don't 
want  him  mad.  These  girls  stick  at  nothing.  They'd 
drive  him  into  an  asylum  if  they  could,  poor  helpless 
devil ! " 

While  these  thoughts  slid  gently  through  Stork's 
head,  his  friend  was  already  answering  his  question 
about  "  flesh  and  blood."  "  It's  just  that  which  gets 
on  my  nerves,"  he  said.  "  I  can  stand  it  when  I'm 
talking  to  you  because  I  forget  everything  except  your 
mind,  and  I  can  stand  it  when  I'm  making  love  to  a 
girl,  because  I  forget  everything  but  — " 

"  Don't  say  her  body !  "  threw  in  Baltazar. 

"  I  wasn't  going  to,"  snarled  the  other.  "  I  know 
it  isn't  their  bodies  one  thinks  of.  It's  —  it's  —  what 
the  devil  is  it?  It's  something  much  deeper  than  that. 
Well,  never  mind !  What  I  want  to  say  is  this.  With 
you  and  Raughty,  and  a  few  others  who  really  inter- 
est me,  I  forget  the  whole  thing.  You  are  individuals 
to  me.  I'm  interested  in  you,  and  I  forget  what  you're 
like,  or  that  you  have  flesh  at  all. 

"  It's  when  I  come  upon  people  I'm  neither  In  love 
with  nor  interested  in,  that  I  have  this  sensation,  and 
of  course,"  and  he  surveyed  a  group  of  women  who  at 


BROKEN  VOICES 203 

that  moment  were  raising  angry  voices  from  an  arch- 
way on  the  further  side  of  the  harbour,  "  and  of  course 
I  have  it  every  day." 

Stork  looked  at  him  with  absorbed  attention,  hold- 
ing between  his  fingers  an  unlit  cigarette.  "  What 
exactly  is  the  feeling  you  have?  "  he  enquired  gently. 

The  light  on  Sorio's  face  had  faded  with  the  fading 
of  the  glow  on  the  water.  There  began  to  fall  upon  the 
place  where  they  sat,  upon  the  cobble-stones  of  the  lit- 
tle quay,  upon  the  wharf  steps,  slimy  with  green  sea- 
weed, upon  the  harbour  mud  and  the  tarred  gunwales 
of  the  gently  rocking  barges,  upon  tlie  pallid  tide  flow- 
ing inland  with  gurglings  and  suckings  and  lappings 
and  long-drawn  sighs,  that  indescribable  sense  of  the 
coming  on  of  night  at  a  river's  mouth,  which  is  like 
nothing  else  in  the  world.  It  is,  as  it  were,  the  meet- 
ing of  two  infinite  vistas  of  imaginative  suggestion  — 
the  sense  of  the  mystery  of  the  boundless  horizons  sea- 
ward, and  the  more  human  mystery  of  the  unknown 
distance  inland,  its  vague  fields  and  marshes  and  woods 
and  silent  gardens  — blending  there  together  in  a  sus- 
pended breath  of  ineffable  possibility,  sad  and  tender, 
and  touching  the  margin  of  what  cannot  be  uttered. 

"What  is  it,''"  repeated  Sorio  dreamily,  and  in  a 
low  melancholy  voice.  "  How  can  I  tell  you  what  it 
is.''  It's  a  knowledge  of  the  inner  truth,  I  suppose. 
It's  the  fact  that  I've  come  to  know,  at  last,  what 
human  beings  are  really  like.  I've  come  to  see  them 
stripped  and  naked  —  no !  worse  than  that  —  I've  come 
to  see  them  flayed.  I've  got  to  the  point,  Tassar,  my 
friend,  when  I  see  the  world  as  it  is,  and  I  can  tell  you 
it's  not  a  pleasant  sight !  " 

Baltazar  Stork  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  the  most 


204  RODMOOR 


exquisite  pity,  a  pity  which  was  not  the  less  genuine 
because  the  emotion  that  accompanied  it  was  one  of 
indescribable  pleasure.  In  the  presence  of  his  friend's 
massive  face  and  powerful  figure  he  felt  deliciously  deli- 
cate and  frail,  but  with  this  sense  of  fragility  came  a 
feeling  of  indescribable  power  —  the  power  of  a  mind 
that  is  capable  of  contemplating  with  equanimity  a 
view  of  things  at  which  another  staggers  and  shivers 
and  grows  insane.  It  was  allotted  to  Baltazar  by  the 
secret  forces  of  the  universe  to  know  during  that  hour, 
one  of  the  most  thrilling  moments  of  his  life. 

"  To  get  to  the  point  I've  reached,"  continued  Sorio 
gently,  watching  the  colour  die  out  from  the  water's 
surface  and  a  whitish  glimmer,  silvery  and  phantom- 
like, take  its  place,  "  means  to  sharpen  one's  senses  to 
a  point  of  terrible  receptivity.  In  fact,  until  you  can 
hear  the  hearts  of  people  beating  —  until  you  can  hear 
their  contemptible  lusts  hissing  and  writhing  in  their 
veins,  like  evil  snakes  —  you  haven't  reached  the  point. 
You  haven't  reached  it  until  you  can  smell  the  grave- 
yard —  yes !  the  graveyard  of  all  mortality  —  in  the 
cleanest  flesh  you  approach.  You  haven't  reached  it 
till  every  movement  people  make,  every  word  they  speak, 
betrays  them  for  what  they  are,  betrays  the  vulture  on 
the  wing,  and  the  hyena  on  the  prowl.  You  haven't 
reached  it  till  you  feel  ready  to  cry  out,  like  a  child 
in  a  nightmare,  and  beat  the  air  with  your  hands,  so 
suffocating  is  the  pressure  of  loathsome  living  bodies 
—  bodies  marked  and  sealed  and  printed  with  the  signs 
of  death  and  decomposition  !  " 

Baltazar  Stork  struck  a  match  and  lit  his  cigarette. 

"Well.''"  he  remarked,  stretching  out  his  legs  and 
leaning    back    on    the    wooden    bench.     "Well.''     The 


BROKEX  VOICES  205 

world  is  like  that,  then.  You've  found  it  out.  You 
know  it.  You've  made  the  wonderful  discovery.  Why 
can't  you  smoke  cigarettes,  then,  and  make  love  to  your 
lovely  friends,  and  let  the  whole  thing  go.''  You'll  be 
dead  3'ourself  in  a  year  or  two  in  any  case. 

"  Adriano  dear,"  he  lowered  his  voice  to  an  impres- 
sive whisper,  "  shall  I  tell  you  something.''  You  are 
making  all  this  fuss  and  driving  yourself  desperate 
about  a  thing  which  doesn't  really  concern  you  in  the 
least.  It's  not  your  business  if  the  world  does  reek 
like  a  carcass.  It's  not  your  business  if  people's  brains 
are  full  of  poisonous  snakes  and  their  bellies  of  greedy 
lecheries.  It's  not  your  business  —  do  you  under- 
stand —  if  human  flesh  smells  of  the  graveyard.  Your 
affair,  my  boy,  is  to  get  what  amusement  you  can  out 
of  it  and  make  yourself  as  comfortable  as  you  can  in  it. 
It  might  be  worse,  it  might  be  better.  It  doesn't  really 
make  much  difference  either  way. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Adriano !  I  say  to  you  now,  as  we 
sit  at  this  moment  watching  this  water,  unless  you  get 
rid  of  this  new  mania  of  yours,  you'll  end  as  you  did 
in  America.  You'll  simply  go  mad  again,  my  dear, 
and  that  would  be  uncomfortable  for  you  and  extremely 
inconvenient  for  me.  The  world  is  not  meant  to  be 
taken  seriously.  It's  meant  to  be  handled  as  you'd 
handle  a  troublesome  girl.  Take  what  amuses  you  and 
let  the  rest  go  to  the  devil !  Anything  else  —  and  I 
know  what  I'm  talking  about  —  tends  to  simple  misery. 

"Heigh  ho!  But  it's  a  most  delicious  evening! 
What  nonsense  all  this  talk  of  ours  is !  Look  at  that 
boy  over  there.  He's  not  worrying  himself  about 
grave-yards.  Here,  Harry !  Tonmiy !  Whatever  you 
call  yourself  —  come  here !     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 


206  RODMOOR 


The  child  addressed  was  a  ragged  barelegged  urchin, 
of  about  eleven,  who  had  been  for  some  while  slowly 
gravitating  around  the  two  men.  He  came  at  once, 
at  Baltazar's  call,  and  looked  at  them  both,  wonder- 
ingly  and  quizzically. 

"  Got  any  pictures?  "  he  asked.  Stork  nodded  and, 
opening  a  new  box  of  cigarettes,  handed  the  boy  a  little 
oblong  card  stamped  with  the  arms  of  some  royal 
European  dynasty.  "  I  likes  the  Honey-Dew  ones 
best,"  remarked  the  boy,  "  them  as  has  the  sport  cards 
in    em. 

"  We  can't  always  have  sport  cards,  Tommy,"  said 
Baltazar.  "  Little  boys,  as  the  world  moves  round, 
must  learn  to  put  up  with  the  arms  of  European 
princes.  Let  me  feel  your  muscle,  Tommy.  I've  an 
idea  that  you're  suffering  from  deficient  nourishment." 
The  child  extended  his  arm,  and  then  bent  it,  with  an 
air  of  extreme  and  anxious  gravity.  "  Pretty  good," 
said  Stork,  smiling.  "  Yes,  I  may  say  you're  decidedly 
powerful  for  your  size.  What's  your  opinion.  Tommy, 
about  things  in  general?  This  gentleman  here  thinks 
we're  all  in  a  pretty  miserable  way.  He  thinks 
life's  a  hell  of  a  bad  job.  What  do  you  think  about 
it?" 

The  boy  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  "  Ben  Porter, 
what  cleans  the  knives  up  at  the  Admiral's,  tried 
that  game  on  with  me.  But  I  let  him  know,  soon 
enough,  who  he  were  talking  to."  He  moved  off  hastily 
after  this,  but  a  moment  later  ran  back,  pointing  ex- 
citedly at  a  couple  of  sea-gulls  which  were  circling 
near  them. 

"  A  man  shot  one  of  them  birds  last  night,"  he  said, 
"  and    it    fell    into    the    water.     Lordy !     But    it    did 


BROKEN  VOICES 207 

splash!  'Twcren't  properly  killed,  I  reckon  —  just 
knocked  over." 

"What's  that?"  said  Sorio  sharply.  "What  be- 
came of  it  then?     Who  picked  it  up?" 

The  boy  looked  at  him  with  a  puzzled  stare.  "  They 
ain't  no  good  to  eat,"  he  rejoined,  "  they  be  what  you 
call  cannibal-birds.  They  feeds  on  muck.  Cats'll  eat 
'em,  though,"  he  added. 

"  What  became  of  it?  "  shouted  Sorio,  in  a  threaten- 
ing voice. 

"  Went  out  with  the  tide,  Mister,  most  like,"  an- 
swered the  child,  moving  apprehensively  away  from  him. 
"  I  saw  some  fellows  in  a  boat  knock  at  it  with  their 
oars,  but  they  couldn't  get  it.  It  sort  o'  flapped  and 
swimmed  away." 

Sorio  rose  from  his  seat  and  strode  to  the  edge  of  the 
quay.  He  looked  eastward,  past  the  long  line  of  half- 
submerged  wooden  stakes  which  marked  the  approach 
to  the  harbour.  "  When  did  that  devil  shoot  it,  do  you 
say?"  he  asked,  turning  to  the  boy.  But  the  young- 
ster had  taken  to  his  heels.  Angry-looking  bronze- 
faced  gentlemen  who  interested  themselves  in  wounded 
sea-gulls  were  something  new  in  his  experience. 

"  Let's  get  a  boat  and  row  out  to  those  stakes,"  said 
Adrian  suddenly.  "  I  seem  to  see  something  white 
over  there.     Look!     Don't  you  think  so?  " 

Baltazar  moved  to  his  side.  "  Heavens !  my  dear," 
he  remarked  languidly,  "  you  don't  suppose  the  thing 
would  be  there  now,  after  all  this  time?  However," 
he  added,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  if  it'll  put  you 
into  a  better  mood,  by  all  means  let's  do  it." 

It  was,  when  it  came  to  the  point,  Baltazar  who  un- 
tied an  available  boat  from  its  moorings,  and  Baltazar 


208  RODMOOR 


who  appropriated  a  pair  of  oars  tliat  were  leaning 
against  a  fish  shed.  In  details  of  this  kind  the  pas- 
sionate Sorio  was  always  seized  with  a  paralysis  of 
nervous  incompetence.  Once  in  the  boat,  however,  the 
3'ounger  man  refused  to  do  anything  but  steer.  *'  I'm 
not  going  to  pull  against  this  current,  for  all  the  sea- 
gulls in  the  world,"  he  remarked. 

Sorio  rowed  with  desperate  impetuosity,  but  it  was 
a  slow  and  laborious  task.  Several  fishermen,  loiter- 
ing on  the  quay  after  their  supper,  survej'ed  the  scene 
with  interest.  *'  The  gentleman  wants  to  exercise  'is- 
self  afore  dinner-time,"  observed  one.  "  'Tis  a  won- 
der if  he  moves  'er,"  rejoined  another,  "  but  'e's  rowin' 
like  'twas  a  royal  regatta." 

With  the  sweat  pouring  down  his  face  and  the  mus- 
cles of  his  whole  body  taut  and  quivering,  Sorio  tugged 
and  strained  at  the  oars.  At  first  it  seemed  as  though 
the  boat  hardly  moved  at  all.  Then,  little  by  little,  it 
forged  ahead,  the  tide's  pressure  diminishing  as  the 
mouth  of  the  harbour  widened.  After  several  minutes' 
exhausting  effort,  they  reached  the  place  where  the  first 
of  the  wooden  piles  rose  out  of  the  water.  It  was  tan- 
gled with  seaweed  and  bleached  with  sun  and  wind. 
The  tide  gurgled  and  foamed  round  it.  Baltazar 
yawned. 

"  They're  all  like  this  one,"  he  said.  "  You  see  what 
they're  like.  Nothing  could  possibly  cling  to  them, 
unless  it  had  hands  to  cling  with." 

Sorio,  resting  on  his  oars,  glared  at  the  darkening 
waters.  "  Let's  get  to  the  last  of  them  anyway,"  he 
muttered.  He  pulled  on,  the  effort  becoming  easier 
and  easier  as  they  escaped  from  the  in-flow  of  the  river- 
mouth  and  reached  the  open  sea.     When  at  last  the 


BROKEN  VOICES 209 

boat  rubbed  its  side  against  the  last  of  the  stakes, 
they  were  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  land.  No, 
there  was  certainly  no  sea-gull  here,  alive  or  dead ! 

A  buoy,  with  a  bell  attached  to  it,  sent  at  intervals, 
over  the  water,  a  profoundly  melancholy  cry  —  a  cry 
subdued  and  yet  tragic,  not  absolutely  devoid  of  hope 
and  yet  full  of  heart-breaking  wistfulness.  The  air  was 
hot  and  windless ;  the  sky  heavy  with  clouds ;  the  hor- 
izon concealed  by  the  rapidly  falling  night.  Sorio 
seized  the  stake  with  his  hand  to  keep  the  boat  steady. 
There  were  already  lights  in  the  town,  and  some  of 
these  twinkled  out  towards  them,  in  long,  radiating, 
quivering  lines. 

"  Tassar ! "  whispered  Sorio  suddenly,  in  a  tone 
strangely  and  tenderly  modulated. 

"  Well,  my  child,  what  is  it .''  "  returned  the  other. 

"  I  only  want  to  tell  you,"  Adrian  went  on,  "  that 
whatever  I  may  say  or  do  in  the  future,  I  recognize 
that  you're  the  best  friend  I've  got,  except  one."  As 
he  said  the  words  "  except  one,"  his  voice  had  a  vibrant 
softness  in  it. 

"  Thank  j'ou,  my  dear,"  replied  his  friend  calmly. 
"  I  should  certainly  be  extremely  distressed  if  you  made 
a  fool  of  yourself  in  any  way.  But  who  is  my  rival, 
tell  me  that !  Who  is  this  one  who's  a  better  friend 
than  1?     Not  Philippa,  I  hope  —  or  Nance  Herrick.?  " 

Sorio  sighed  heavily.  "  I  vowed  to  myself,"  he  mut- 
tered, "  I  would  never  talk  to  any  one  again  about  him ; 
but  the  sound  of  that  bell  —  isn't  it  weird,  Tassar? 
Isn't  it  ghostly?  —  makes  me  long  to  talk  about  him." 

"  Ah !  I  understand,"  and  Baltazar  Stork  drew  in 
his  breath  with  a  low  whistle,  "  I  understand !  You're 
talking  about  your  boy  over  there.     Well,  my  dear,  I 


210  RODMOOR 


don't  blame  you  if  you're  homesick  for  him.  I  have 
a  feeling  that  he's  an  extraordinarily  beautiful  youth. 
I  always  picture  him  to  myself  like  my  Venetian.  Is  he 
like  Flambard,  Adrian  ?  " 

Sorio  sighed  again,  the  sigh  of  one  who  sins  against 
his  secret  soul  and  misses  the  reward  of  his  sacrilege. 
"  No  —  no,"  he  muttered,  "  it  isn't  that !  It  isn't  any- 
thing to  do  with  his  being  beautiful.  God  knows  if 
Baptiste  is  beautiful !  It's  that  I  want  him.  It's  that 
he  understands  what  I'm  trying  to  do  in  the  darkness. 
It's  simply  that  I  want  him,  Tassar." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  '  trying  in  the  dark- 
ness,' Adriano  ?  What  '  darkness  '  are  you  talking 
about.?" 

Sorio  made  no  immediate  answer.  His  hand,  as  he 
clung  to  the  stake  amid  the  rocking  of  the  boat,  en- 
countered a  piece  of  seaweed  of  that  kind  which  pos- 
sesses slippery,  bubble-like  excrescences,  and  he  dug  his 
nails  into  one  of  these  leathery  globes,  with  a  vague 
dreamy  idea  that  if  he  could  burst  it  he  would  burst 
some  swollen  trouble  in  his  brain. 

"  Do  you  remember,"  he  said  at  last,  "  what  I  showed 
you  the  other  night,  or  have  you  forgotten.?" 

Baltazar  looked  at  his  mistily  outlined  features  and 
experienced,  what  was  extremely  unusual  with  him,  a 
faint  sense  of  apprehensive  remorse.  "  Of  course  I 
remember,"  he  replied.  "  You  mean  those  notes  of 
yours  —  that  book  you're  writing.?  " 

But  Sorio  did  not  hear  him.  All  his  attention  was 
concentrated  just  then  upon  the  attempt  to  burst  an- 
other seaweed  bubble.  The  bell  from  the  unseen  buoy 
rang  out  brokenly  over  the  water ;  and  between  the  side 
of  their  boat  and  the  stake  to  which  the  man   was 


BROKEN  VOICES 211 

clinging  there  came  gurglings  and  lappings  and  whis- 
pers, as  if  below  them,  far  down  under  the  humming 
tide,  some  sad  sea-creature,  without  hope  or  memory 
or  rest,  were  tossing  and  moaning,  turning  a  drowned 
inhuman  face  towards  the  darkened  sky. 


XVI 

THE  FENS 

NANCE  was  able,  in  a  sort  of  lethargic  ob- 
stinacy, to  endure  the  strain  of  her  feelings 
for  Sorio,  now  that  she  had  the  influence  of 
her  familiar  work  to  dull  her  nerves.  She  tried  hard 
to  make  things  cheerful  for  her  not  less  heart-weary 
sister,  devising  one  little  scheme  after  another  to  di- 
vert and  distract  the  child,  and  never  permitting  her 
own  trouble  to  interfere  with  her  sympathy. 

But  behind  all  this  her  soul  ached  miserably,  and 
her  whole  nature  thirsted  and  throbbed  for  the  satis- 
faction of  her  love.  Her  work  played  its  part  as  a 
kind  of  numbing  opiate  and  the  evenings  spent  among 
Letitia  Pontifex'  flower-beds  were  not  devoid  of  mo- 
ments of  restorative  hope,  but  day  and  night  the  pain 
of  her  passion  hurt  her  and  the  tooth  of  jealousy  bit 
into  her  flesh. 

It  was  worst  of  all  in  the  nights.  The  sisters  slept 
in  two  small  couches  in  the  same  room  and  Nance  found 
herself  dreading  more  and  more,  as  July  drew  to  its 
close,  that  hour  when  they  came  in  from  their  neigh- 
bour's garden  and  undressing  in  silence,  lay  down  so 
near  to  one  another.  They  both  tried  hard,  Linda  no 
less  than  her  sister,  to  put  the  thoughts  that  vexed  them 
out  of  their  minds  and  behave  as  if  they  were  fancy-free 
and  at  peace,  but  the  struggle  was  a  difficult  one.     If 

they  only  hadn't  known,  so  cruelly  well,  just  what  the 

212 


THE  FENS  213 


other  was  feeling,  as  they  turned  alternately  from  side 
to  side,  and  like  little  feverish  animals  gasped  and 
fretted,  it  would  have  been  easier  to  bear.  "  Aren't 
you  asleep  yet?  "  one  of  them  would  whisper  plain- 
tively, and  the  submissive,  "  I'm  so  sorry,  dear ;  but  oh ! 
I  wish  the  morning  would  come,"  that  she  received  in 
answer,  met  with  only  too  deep  a  response. 

One  unusually  hot  night  —  it  happened  to  be  the 
first  Sunday  in  August  and  the  eve  of  the  Bank  Holi- 
day —  Nance  felt  as  though  she  would  scream  out  aloud 
if  her  sister  moved  in  her  bed  again. 

There  was  something  that  humiliated  and  degraded 
in  this  mutual  misery.  It  was  hard  to  be  patient,  hard 
not  to  feel  that  her  own  aching  heart  was  in  some  subtle 
way  mocked  and  insulted  by  the  presence  of  the  same 
hurt  in  the  heart  of  another.  It  reduced  the  private 
sorrow  of  each  to  a  sort  of  universal  sex  pain,  to  suffer 
from  which  was  a  kind  of  outrage  to  what  was  sacred 
and  secret  in  their  individual  souls. 

There  were  two  windows  in  their  room,  one  opening 
on  the  street  and  one  upon  an  enclosed  yard  at  the  back 
of  the  house.  Nance,  as  she  now  lay,  with  the  bed- 
clothes tossed  aside  from  her,  and  her  hands  clasped 
behind  her  head,  was  horribly  conscious  not  only  of  the 
fact  that  her  sister  was  just  as  wide  awake  as  she  her- 
self, but  that  they  were  listening  together  to  the  same 
sounds.  These  sounds  were  two-fold,  and  they  came 
sometimes  separately  and  sometimes  simultaneously. 
They  consisted  of  the  wailing  of  an  infant  in  a  room  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street,  and  the  whining  of  a  dog 
in  a  yard  adjoining  their  own. 

The  girl  felt  as  though  every  species  of  desolation 
known   in   the  world  were   concentrated   in   these   two 


214  BODMOOR 


sounds.  She  kept  her  eyes  tightly  shut  so  as  not  to 
see  the  darkness,  but  this  proceeding  only  intensified 
the  acute  receptivity  of  her  other  senses.  She  visual- 
ized the  infant  and  she  visualized  the  dog.  The  one 
she  imagined  with  a  puckered,  wrinkled  face  —  a  face 
such  as  Mr.  Traherne  might  have  had  in  his  babyhood 
—  and  plague-spots  of  a  loathsome  colour ;  she  saw 
the  colour  against  her  burning  eyeballs  as  if  she  were 
touching  it  with  her  fingers  and  it  was  of  a  reddish 
brown.  The  dog  had  a  long  smooth  body,  without  hair, 
and  as  it  whined  she  saw  it  feebly  scratching  itself,  but 
while  it  scratched,  she  knew,  with  evil  certainty,  that 
it  was  unable  to  reach  the  place  where  the  itching  mad- 
dened it. 

There  was  hardly  any  air  in  the  room,  in  spite  of 
the  open  windows,  and  Nance  fancied  that  she  discerned 
an  odour  proceeding  from  the  wainscoting  that  re- 
sembled the  dust  that  had  once  greeted  her  from  a  cup- 
board in  one  of  the  unused  bedrooms  in  Dyke  House, 
dust  that  seemed  to  be  composed  of  the  moth-eaten 
garments  of  generations  of  dead  humanity. 

She  felt  that  she  could  have  borne  these  things  — 
the  whining  dog,  and  the  wailing  infant  —  if  only 
Linda,  lying  with  her  face  to  the  wall,  were  not  listening 
to  them  also,  listening  with  feverish  intentness.  Yes, 
she  could  have  borne  it  if  the  whole  night  were  not 
listening  —  if  the  whole  night  were  not  listening  to  the 
{turnings  and  tossings  of  humanity,  trying  to  ease  the 
itch  of  its  desire  and  never  able  to  reach,  toss  and  turn 
a«  it  might,  the  place  where  the  plague-spot  troubled 
it. 

With  a  cry  she  leapt  from  her  bed  and,  fumbling  on 
tlie  dressing-table,  struck  a  match  and  lit  a  candle. 


THE  FENS  215 


The  flickering  flame  showed  Linda  sitting  bolt-upriglit 
with  lamentable  wide-open  eyes. 

Nance  went  to  the  window  which  looked  out  on  the 
yard.  Here  she  turned  and  threw  back  from  her  fore- 
head her  masses  of  heavy  hair.  "  God  help  us,  Linda  !  " 
she  whispered.  "  It's  no  use.  Nothing  is  any 
use." 

The  young  girl  slowly  and  wearily  left  her  bed  and, 
advancing  across  the  room,  nestled  up  against  her  sis- 
ter and  caressed  her  in  silence. 

"  What  shall  we  do?  "  Nance  repeated,  hardly  know- 
ing what  she  said.  "What  shall  we  do.^  I  can't  bear 
this.     I  can't  bear  it,  little  one,  I  can't  bear  it ! " 

As  if  in  response  to  her  appeal,  the  dog  and  the  in- 
fant together  sent  forth  a  pitiful  wail  upon  the  night. 

"  What  misery  there  is  in  the  world  —  what  horrible 
misery !  "  Nance  murmured.  "  I'm  sure  we're  all  bet- 
ter off  dead,  than  like  this.  Better  off  dead,  my 
darling." 

Linda  answered  by  slipping  her  arms  round  her  waist 
and  hugging  her  tightly.  Then  suddenl}',  "  Why  don't 
we  dress  ourselves  and  go  out.^"  she  cried.  "It's  too 
hot  to  sleep.  Yes,  do  let's  do  that,  Nance!  Let's 
dress  and  go  out." 

Nance  looked  at  her  with  a  faint  smile.  There  was 
a  childish  ardour  about  her  tone  that  reminded  her  of 
the  Linda  of  many  years  ago.  "  Very  well,"  she  said, 
"  I  don't  mind." 

They  dressed  hurriedly.  The  very  boldness  of  the 
idea  helped  them  to  recover  their  spirits.  Bareheaded 
and  in  their  house-shoes  they  let  themselves  out  into  the 
street.  It  was  between  two  and  three  o'clock.  The 
little  town  was  absolutely  silent.     The  infant  in  the 


216  RODMOOR 


house  opposite  made  no  sound.  "  Perhaps  it's  dead 
now,"  Nance  thought. 

They  walked  across  the  green,  and  Nance  gave  a 
long  wistful  look  at  the  windows  of  Baltazar's  cottage. 
The  heavy  clouds  had  lifted  a  little,  and  from  various 
points  in  the  sky  the  stars  threw  down  a  faint,  uncer- 
tain glimmer.  It  remained,  however,  still  so  dark  that 
when  they  reached  the  centre  of  the  bridge,  neither  bank 
was  visible,  and  the  waters  of  the  Loon  flowing  beneath 
were  hidden  in  profound  obscurity.  They  leant  upon 
the  parapet  and  inhaled  the  darkness.  What  wind 
there  was  blew  from  the  west  so  that  the  air  was  heavy 
with  the  scent  of  peat  and  marsh  mud,  and  the  sound 
of  the  sea  seemed  to  come  from  far  away,  as  if  it  be- 
longed to  a  different  world. 

They  crossed  the  bridge  and  began  following  the 
footpath  that  led  to  the  church.  Coming  suddenly 
on  an  open  gate,  however,  they  were  tempted,  by  a 
curious  instinct  of  unconscious  self-cruelty,  to  deviate 
from  the  path  they  knew  and  to  pursue  a  strange  and 
unfamiliar  track  heading  straight  for  the  darkened 
fens.  It  was  on  the  side  of  the  path  removed  from  the 
sea  that  this  track  began,  and  it  led  them,  along  the 
edge  of  a  reedy  ditch,  into  a  great  shadowy  maze  of 
silent  water-meadows. 

Fortunately  for  the  two  girls,  the  particular  ditch 
they  followed  had  a  high  and  clearly  marked  embank- 
ment, an  embankment  used  by  the  owners  of  cattle  in 
that  district  as  a  convenient  way  of  getting  their  herds 
from  one  feeding-ground  to  another.  No  one  who  has 
never  experienced  the  sensation  of  following  one  of 
these  raised  banks,  or  dyke-tracks,  across  the  fens,  can 
conceive  the  curious  feelings  it  has  the  power  of  evok- 


THE  FENS  217 


ing.  Even  by  day  these  inipressions  are  unique  and 
strange.  By  night  they  assume  a  quahty  which  may 
easily  pass  into  something  bordering  upon  panic-terror. 
The  palpable  and  immediate  cause  of  this  emotion  is  the 
sense  of  being  isolated,  separated,  and  cut-ofF,  from  all 
communication  with  the  ordinary  world. 

On  the  sea-shore  one  is  indeed  in  contact  with  the 
unknown  mass  of  waters,  but  there  is  always,  close  at 
hand,  the  familiar  inland  landscape,  friendly  and  re- 
assuring. On  the  slope  of  a  mountain  one  may  look 
with  apprehension  at  the  austere  heights  above,  but 
there  is  always  behind  one  the  rocks  and  woods,  the 
terraces  and  ledges,  past  which  one  has  ascended,  and 
to  which  at  any  moment  one  can  return. 

In  the  midst  of  the  fens  there  is  no  such  reassurance. 
The  path  one  has  followed  becomes  merged  in  the  il- 
limitable space  around ;  merged,  lost  and  annihilated. 
No  mark,  no  token,  no  sign  indicates  its  difference  from 
other  similar  tracks.  No  mark  nor  token  separates 
north  from  south  or  east  from  west.  On  all  sides  the 
same  reeds,  the  same  meadows,  the  same  gates,  the  same 
stunted  willow-trees,  the  same  desolate  marsh  pools, 
the  same  vast  and  receding  horizons.  The  mind  has 
nothing  to  rest  itself  upon  except  the  general  expanse, 
and  the  general  expanse  seems  as  boundless  as  infinity. 

Nance  and  her  sister  were  not,  of  course,  far  enough 
away  from  their  familiar  haunts  to  get  the  complete 
"  fen-terror,"  but,  aided  by  the  darkness,  the  power  of 
the  thing  was  by  no  means  unfelt.  The  instinct  to  es- 
cape from  the  burden  of  their  thoughts  which  drove 
the  girls  on,  became  indeed  more  and  more  definitely 
mingled,  as  they  advanced,  with  a  growing  sense  of 
alarm.     But  into  this  very  alarm   they  plunged  for- 


218  RODMOOR 


ward  with  a  species  of  exultant  desperation.  They 
both  experienced,  as  they  went  hand  in  hand,  a  morbid 
kind  of  delight  in  being  cruel  to  themselves,  in  forcing 
themselves  to  do  the  very  thing  —  and  to  do  it  in  the 
dead  of  night  —  which,  of  all,  they  had  most  avoided, 
even  in  the  full  light  of  day. 

Before  they  had  gone  much  more  than  a  mile  from 
their  starting-point  they  were  permitted  to  witness  a 
curious  trick  of  the  elemental  powers.  Without  any 
warning,  there  suddenly  arose  from  the  west  a  much 
more  powerful  current  of  wind.  Every  cloud  was 
driven  sea-ward  and  with  the  clouds  every  trace  of  sea- 
mist.  The  vast  dome  of  sky  above  them  showed  itself 
clear  and  unstained ;  and  across  the  innumerable  con- 
stellations —  manifest  to  their  eyes  in  its  full  length  — 
stretched  the  Milky  Way.  Not  only  did  the  stars  thus 
make  themselves  visible.  In  their  visibility  they  threw 
a  weird  and  phantom-like  light  over  the  whole  land- 
scape. Objects  that  had  been  mere  misty  blurs  became 
distinct  identities  and  things  that  had  been  absolutely 
out  of  sight  w^ere  now  unmistakably  recognizable. 

The  girls  stood  still  and  looked  around  them.  They 
could  see  the  church  tower  rising  squat  and  square 
against  the  line  of  the  distant  sand-dunes.  They  could 
see  the  roofs  of  the  village,  huddled  greyly  and  ob- 
scurely together,  beyond  the  dark  curve  of  the  bridge. 
They  could  make  out  the  sombre  shape  of  Dyke  House 
itself,  just  distinguishable  against  the  high  tow-path  of 
the  river.  And  Nance,  turning  westward,  could  even 
discern  her  favourite  withy-copse,  surrounded  by  shad- 
owy cornfields. 

There  was  a  pitiable  pathos  in  the  way  each  of  the 
girls,  now  that  the  scene  of  their  present  trouble  was 


THE  FENS  219 


thus  bared  to  tlicir  view,  turned  instinctively  to  the 
object  most  associated  with  the  thoughts  they  were 
seeking  to  escape.  Nance  looked  long  and  wistfully  at 
the  little  wood  of  willows  and  alders,  now  a  mere  misty 
exhalation  of  thicker  shadow  above  the  long  reaches  of 
the  fens.  She  thought  of  how  mercilessly  her  feelings 
had  been  outraged  there ;  of  how  violent  and  strange 
and  untcnder  Sorio  had  been.  Yet  even  at  that  mo- 
ment, her  heart  aching  with  the  recollection  of  what 
she  had  suffered,  the  old  fierce  passionate  cry  went  up 
from  her  soul  — "  better  be  beaten  by  Adrian  than 
loved  by  all  the  rest  of  the  world ! " 

It  was  perhaps  because  of  her  preoccupation  with 
her  own  thoughts  and  her  long  dreamy  gaze  at  the  spot 
which  recalled  them,  that  she  did  not  remark  a  certain 
sight  which  set  her  companion  trembling  with  intoler- 
able excitement.  This  was  nothing  less  than  the  sud- 
den appearance,  between  the  trees  that  almost  hid  the 
house  from  view,  of  a  red  light  in  a  window  of  Oak- 
guard.  It  was  an  unsteady  light  and  it  seemed  to 
waver  and  flicker.  Sometimes  it  grew  deeply  red,  like 
a  threatening  star,  and  at  other  times  it  paled  in  col- 
our and  diminished  in  size.  All  at  once,  after  flicker- 
ing and  quivering  for  several  seconds,  it  died  out  alto- 
gether. 

Only  when  it  had  finally  disappeared  did  Linda 
hastily  glance  round  to  see  if  Nance  had  discerned  it. 
But  her  sister  had  seen  nothing. 

It  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  small  wonder  that  this 
particular  light  observed  in  a  window  of  Oakguard, 
thrilled  the  young  girl  with  uncontrollable  agitation. 
It  had  been  this  very  signal,  arranged  between  them 
during  their  few  weeks  of  passionate  love-making,  which 


220  RODMOOR 


had  several  times  flickered  across  the  river  to  Dyke 
House  and  had  been  answered,  unknown  to  Nance, 
from  the  sisters'  room.  Linda  shivered  through  every 
nerve  and  fibre  of  her  being,  and  in  the  darkness  her 
cheeks  grew  hot  as  fire.  She  suddenly  felt  convinced 
that  by  some  strange  link  between  her  heart  and  his, 
Brand  knew  that  she  was  out  in  the  fens,  and  was  tell- 
ing her  that  he  knew  it,  in  the  old  exciting  way. 

"  He  is  calling  me,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  is  call- 
ing me ! "  And  as  she  formed  the  words,  there  came 
over  her,  with  a  sick  beating  of  her  heart  and  a  dizzy 
pain  in  her  breast,  the  certainty  that  Brand  had  left 
the  house  and  was  waiting  for  her,  somewhere  in  the 
long  avenue  of  limes  and  cedars,  where  they  had  met 
once  before  in  the  early  evening. 

"  He  is  waiting  for  me !  "  she  repeated,  and  the  dizzi- 
ness grew  so  strong  upon  her  that  she  staggered  and 
caught  at  her  sister's  arm.  "  Nance,"  she  whispered, 
"  I  feel  sick.  My  head  hurts  me.  Shall  we  go  back 
now?" 

Nance,  full  of  concern  and  anxiety,  passed  her  fin- 
gers across  her  sister's  forehead.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  my 
dear,"  she  cried,  "  you're  in  a  fever !  How  silly  of  me 
to  let  you  come  out  on  this  mad  prank !  " 

Supporting  her  on  her  arm  she  led  her  slowly  back, 
along  the  embankment.  As  they  walked,  Nance  felt 
more  strongly  than  she  had  done  since  she  crossed  the 
Loon,  that  deep  maternal  pity,  infinite  in  its  emotion 
of  protection,  which  was  the  basic  quality  in  her  nature. 
For  the  very  reason,  perhaps,  that  Linda  now  clung  to 
her  like  a  child,  she  felt  happier  than  she  had  done  for 
many  days.  A  mysterious  detachment  from  her  own 
fate,  a  sort  of  resigned  indifference  to  what  happened. 


THE  FENS  221 


seemed  to  liberate  her  at  that  inonicnt  from  the  worst 
pang  of  her  loss.  The  immense  shadowy  spaces  about 
her,  the  silence  of  the  fens,  broken  only  by  the  rustling 
of  the  reeds  and  an  occasional  splash  in  the  stream  by 
their  side  as  a  fish  rose,  the  vast  arch  of  starlit  sky 
above  her,  full  of  a  strange  and  infinite  reassurance  — 
all  these  things  thrilled  the  girl's  heart,  as  they  moved, 
with  an  emotion  beyond  expression. 

At  that  hour  there  came  to  her,  with  a  vividness  un- 
felt  until  then,  the  real  meaning  of  Mr.  Traherne's 
high  platonic  mystery.  She  told  herself  that  what- 
ever henceforth  happened  to  her  or  did  not  happen, 
it  was  not  an  illusion,  it  was  not  a  dream  —  this  strange 
spiritual  secret.  It  was  something  palpable  and  real. 
She  had  felt  it  —  at  least  she  had  touched  the  fringe 
of  it  —  and  even  if  the  thing  never  quite  returned  or 
the  power  of  it  revived  as  it  thrilled  her  now,  it  re- 
mained that  it  had  been,  that  she  had  known  it,  that  it 
was  there,  somewhere  in  the  depths,  however  darkly  hid- 
den. 

Very  different  were  the  thoughts  that  during  that 
walk  back  agitated  the  mind  of  the  younger  girl.  Her 
whole  nature  was  obsessed  by  one  fierce  resolve,  the 
resolve  to  escape  at  once  to  the  arms  of  her  lover.  He 
was  waiting  for  her ;  he  was  expecting  her ;  she  felt 
absolutely  convinced  of  that.  An  indefinable  pain  in 
her  breast  and  a  throbbing  in  her  heart  assured  her  that 
he  was  watching,  waiting,  drawing  her  towards  him. 
The  same  large  influences  of  the  night,  the  same  silent 
spaces,  the  same  starlit  dome,  which  brought  to  Nance 
her  spiritual  reassurance,  brought  to  the  frailer  figure 
she  supported  only  a  desperate  craving. 

She  could  feel  through  every  nerve  of  her  feverish 


222  RODMOOR 


body  the  touch  of  her  love's  fingers.  She  ached  and 
shivered  with  pent-up  longing,  with  longing  to  yield 
herself  to  him,  to  surrender  herself  absolutely  into  his 
power.  She  was  no  longer  a  thing  of  body,  soul,  and 
senses.  The  normal  complexity  of  our  mortal  frame 
was  annihilated  in  her.  She  was  one  trembling,  quiv- 
ering, vibrant  chord,  a  chord  of  feverish  desire,  only 
waiting  to  break  into  one  wild  burst  of  ecstatic  music, 
when  struck  by  the  hand  she  loved. 

Her  desire  at  that  moment  was  of  the  kind  which 
tears  at  the  root  of  every  sort  of  scruple.  It  did  not 
only  endow  her  with  the  courage  of  madness,  it  inspired 
her  with  the  cunning  of  the  insane.  All  the  way  along 
the  embankment  she  was  devising  desperate  plans  of 
escape,  and  by  the  time  they  reached  the  church  path 
these  plans  had  shaped  themselves  into  a  definite  reso- 
lution. 

They  emerged  upon  the  familiar  way  and  turned 
southward  towards  the  bridge.  Nance,  thankful  that 
she  had  got  her  sister  so  near  home  without  any  serious 
mishap,  could  not  resist,  in  the  impulse  of  her  relief, 
the  pleasure  of  stopping  for  a  moment  to  pick  a  bunch 
of  flowers  from  the  path's  reedy  edge.  The  coolness 
of  the  earth  as  she  stooped,  the  waving  grasses,  the 
strongly  blowing,  marsh-scented  wind,  the  silence  and 
the  darkness,  all  blent  harmoniously  together  to 
strengthen  her  in  her  new-found  comfort. 

She  pulled  up  impetuously,  almost  by  their  roots, 
great  heavy-flowered  stalks  of  loose-strife  and  willow- 
herb.  She  scrambled  down  into  the  wet  mud  of  a 
shallow  ditch  to  add  to  her  bunch  a  tall  spray  of 
hemp-agrimony  and  some  wild  valerian.  All  these 
things,  ghostly  and  vague  and  colourless  in  the  iaint 


THE  FENS  223 


starlight,  had  a  strange  and  mystic  beauty,  and  as  she 
gathered  them  Nance  promised  herself  that  they  should 
be  a  covenant  between  her  senses  and  her  spirit ;  a 
sign  and  a  token,  offered  up  in  the  stillness  of  that  hour, 
to  whatever  great  invisible  powers  still  made  it  possible 
on  earth  to  renounce  and  be  not  all  unhappy.  She 
returned  with  her  flowers  to  her  sister's  side  and  to- 
gether they  reached  the  bridge. 

When  they  were  at  the  very  centre  of  this,  Linda 
suddenly  staggered  and  swayed.  She  tore  herself  from 
her  sister's  support  and  sank  down  on  the  little  stone 
seat  beneath  the  parapet  —  the  same  stone  seat  upon 
which,  some  months  before,  that  passage  of  sinister 
complicity  had  occurred  between  Rachel  Doorm  and 
Brand.  Falling  helplessly  back  now  in  this  place,  the 
young  girl  pressed  her  hands  to  her  head  and  moaned 
pitifully. 

Nance  dropped  her  flowers  and  flung  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  her.  "  What  is  it,  darling?  "  she  whis- 
pered in  a  low  frightened  voice.  "  Oh,  Linda,  what  is 
it?  "  But  Linda's  only  reply  was  to  close  her  eyes 
and  let  her  head  fall  heavily  back  against  the  stone- 
work of  the  parapet.  Nance  rose  to  her  feet  and  stood 
looking  at  her  in  mute  despair.  "  Linda  !  Linda  !  " 
she  cried.     "Linda!     What  is  it?  " 

But  the  shadowy  white  form  lay  hushed  and  motion- 
less, the  soft  hair  across  her  forehead  stirring  in  the 
wind,  but  all  else  about  her,  horribly,  deadly  still. 

Nance  rushed  across  the  bridge  and  down  to  the 
river's  brink.  She  came  back,  her  hands  held  cup-wise, 
and  dashed  the  water  over  her  sister's  face.  The 
child's  eyelids  flickered  a  little,  but  that  was  all.  She 
remained  as  motionless  and  seemingly  unconscious  as 


224  RODMOOR 


before.  With  a  desperate  effort,  Nance  tried  to  lift 
her  up  bodily  in  her  arms,  but  stiff  and  limp  as  the 
girl  was,  this  seemed  an  attempt  beyond  her  strength. 

Once  more  she  stood,  helpless  and  silent,  regarding 
the  other  as  she  lay.  Then  it  dawned  upon  her  mind 
that  the  only  possible  thing  to  do  was  to  leave  her 
where  she  was  and  run  to  the  village  for  help.  She 
would  arouse  her  own  landlady.  She  would  get  the 
assistance  of  Dr.  Raughty. 

With  one  last  glance  at  her  sister's  motionless  form 
and  a  quick  look  up  and  down  the  river  on  the  chance 
of  there  being  some  barge  or  boat  at  hand  with  people 
—  as  sometimes  happened  —  sleeping  in  it,  she  set  off 
running  as  fast  as  she  could  in  the  direction  of  the 
silent  town. 

As  soon  as  the  sound  of  her  retreating  steps  died 
away  in  the  distance,  the  hitherto  helpless  Linda  leapt 
quickly  and  lightly  to  her  feet.  Standing  motionless 
for  awhile  till  she  had  given  her  sister  time  to  reach 
the  high-street,  she  set  off  herself  with  firm  and  rapid 
steps  in  the  same  direction.  She  resolved  that  she 
would  not  risk  crossing  the  green,  but  would  reach  the 
park  wall  by  a  little  side  alley  which  skirted  the  backs 
of  the  houses.  She  felt  certain  that  when  she  did 
reach  this  wall  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  climb  over 
it.  She  remembered  its  loose  uneven  stones  and  its 
clinging  ivy.  And  once  in  the  park  —  ah !  she  knew 
well  enough  what  way  to  take  then ! 

Deserted  by  its  human  invaders,  the  old  New  Bridge 
relapsed  into  its  accustomed  mood  of  silent  expectancy. 
It  had  witnessed  many  passionate  loves  and  many  pas- 
sionate hatreds.  It  had  felt  the  feet  of  generations 
of  Rodmoor's  children,  light  as  gossamer  seeds,  upon 


THE  FENS  225 


its  sliouldoi-.s,  and  it  liad  felt  the  creaking  of  the  death- 
wagon  carrying  tlie  same  persons,  heavy  as  lead  then, 
to  the  oblong  holes  dug  for  them  in  the  churchyard. 
All  this  it  had  felt,  but  it  still  waited,  still  waited  in 
patient  expectancy,  while  the  tides  went  up  and  down 
beneath  it,  and  sea  airs  swept  over  it  and  night  by 
night  the  stars  looked  down  on  it ;  still  waited,  with  the 
dreadful  patience  of  the  eternal  gods  and  the  eternal 
elements,  something  that,  after  all,  would  perhaps  never 
come. 

Nance's  flowers,  meanwhile,  lay  where  she  had 
dropped  them,  upon  the  ground  by  the  stone  seat. 
They  were  there  when,  some  ten  minutes  after  her  de- 
parture, the  girl  returned  with  Dr.  Raughty  and  Mrs. 
Raps  to  find  Linda  gone;  and  they  were  there  through 
all  the  hours  of  the  dawn,  until  a  farm  boy,  catching 
sight  of  them  as  he  went  to  his  work,  threw  them  into 
the  river  in  order  that  he  might  observe  the  precise 
rapidity  with  which  they  would  be  carried  by  the  tide 
under  the  central  arch.  They  were  carried  very  swiftly 
under  the  central  arch ;  but  linger  as  the  boy  might,  he 
did  not  see  them  reappear  on  the  other  side. 


XVII 

THE  DAWN 

THE  dawn  was  just  faintly  making  Itself  felt 
among  the  trees  of  Oakguard  when  Philippa 
Renshaw,  restless  as  she  often  was  on  these 
summer  nights,  perceived,  as  she  leaned  from  her  open 
window,  a  figure  almost  as  slender  as  herself  standing 
motionless  at  the  edge  of  one  of  the  terraces  and  look- 
ing up  at  the  house.  There  was  no  light  in  Phllippa's 
room,  so  that  she  was  able  to  watch  this  figure  without 
risk  of  being  herself  observed.  She  was  certain  at 
once  in  her  own  mind  of  Its  identity,  and  she  took  it 
immediately  for  granted  that  Brand  was  even  now  on 
his  way  to  meet  the  young  girl  at  the  spot  where  she 
now  saw  her  standing. 

She  experienced,  therefore,  a  certain  surprise  and 
even  annoyance  —  for  she  would  have  liked  to  have 
witnessed  this  encounter  —  when,  instead  of  remaining 
where  she  stood,  the  girl  suddenly  slipped  away  like  a 
ghostly  shadow  and  merged  herself  among  the  park- 
trees.  Philippa  remained  for  some  minutes  longer  at 
the  window  peering  intently  Into  the  grey  obscurity 
and  wondering  whether  after  all  she  had  been  mistaken 
and  it  was  one  of  the  servants  of  the  house.  There  was 
one  of  the  Oakguard  maids  addicted  to  walking  In  her 
sleep,  and  she  confessed  to  herself  that  It  was  quite 
possible  she  had  been  misled  by  her  own  morbid  fancy 
into  supposing  that  the  nocturnal  wanderer  was  Linda 

Hcrrick. 

226 


THE  DAWN  227 

She  returned  to  her  bed  after  a  while  and  tried  to 
sleep,  but  the  idea  that  it  was  really  Linda  she  had  seen 
and  that  the  young  girl  was  even  now  roaming  about 
the  grounds  like  a  disconsolate  phantom,  took  posses- 
sion of  her  mind.  She  rose  once  more  and  cautiously 
pulling  down  the  blind  and  drawing  the  curtains  be- 
gan hurriedly  to  dress  herself,  taking  the  precaution 
to  place  the  solitary  candle  which  she  used  behind  a 
screen  so  that  no  warning  of  her  wakefulness  should 
reach  the  person  she  suspected. 

Opening  the  door  and  moving  stealthily  down  the 
passage,  she  paused  for  a  moment  at  the  threshold  of 
her  brother's  room.  All  was  silent  within.  Smiling 
faintly  to  herself,  she  turned  the  handle  with  exquisite 
precaution  and  glided  into  the  room.  No!  She  was 
right  in  her  conjecture.  The  place  was  without  an 
occupant,  and  the  bed,  it  appeared,  had  not  been  slept 
in.     She  went  out,  closing  the  door  silently  behind  her. 

Her  mother's  room  was  opposite  Brand's  and  the 
fancy  seized  her  to  enter  that  also.  She  entered  it,  and 
stepped,  softly  as  a  wandering  spirit,  to  her  mother's 
side.  Mrs.  Renshaw  was  lying  in  an  uneasy  posture 
with  one  arm  stretched  across  the  counterpane  and  her 
head  close  to  the  edge  of  the  bed.  She  was  breathing 
heavily  but  was  not  in  a  deep  sleep.  Every  now  and 
then  her  fingers  spasmodically  closed  and  unclosed,  and 
from  her  lips  came  broken  inarticulate  words.  The 
pallid  light  of  the  early  dawn  made  her  face  seem  older 
than  Philippa  had  ever  seen  it.  By  her  side  on  a  little 
table  lay  an  open  book,  but  it  was  still  too  dark  for  the 
intruder  to  discern  what  this  book  was. 

The  daughter  stood  for  some  minutes  in  absolute 
rigidity,   gazing   upon   the   sleeper.     Her   face  as   she 


228  RODMOOR 


gazed  wore  an  expression  so  complicated,  so  subtle, 
that  the  shrewdest  observer  seeking  to  interpret  its 
meaning  would  have  been  baffled.  It  was  not  malignant. 
It  certainly  was  not  tender.  It  might  have  been  com- 
pared to  the  look  one  could  conceive  some  heathen 
courtesan  in  the  days  of  early  Christianity  casting 
upon  a  converted  slave. 

Uneasily  conscious,  as  people  In  their  sleep  often 
are,  without  actually  waking,  of  the  alien  presence 
so  near  her,  Mrs.  Renshaw  suddenly  moved  round  in 
her  bed  and  with  a  low  moaning  utterance,  settled  her- 
self to  sleep  with  her  face  to  the  window.  It  was  a 
human  name  she  had  uttered  then.  Phlllppa  was  sure 
of  that,  but  it  was  a  name  completely  strange  to  the 
watcher  of  her  mother's  unconsciousness. 

Passing  from  the  room  as  silently  as  she  had  entered, 
the  girl  ran  lightly  down  the  staircase,  picked  up  a 
cloak  in  the  hall,  and  let  herself  out  of  the  front  door. 

Meanwhile,  through  the  gradually  lifting  shadows, 
Linda  with  rapid  and  resolute  steps  was  hastening 
across  the  park  to  the  portion  of  the  avenue  where 
grow  the  great  cedar-trees.  This  was  the  place  to 
which  her  first  instinct  had  called  her.  It  was  only 
an  after-thought,  due  to  cooler  reason  that  had  caused 
her  to  deviate  from  this  and  approach  the  house  itself. 

As  she  advanced  through  the  dew-drenched  grass, 
silvery  now  in  the  faint  light,  she  felt  that  vague  in- 
describable sensation  which  all  living  creatures,  even 
those  scourged  by  passion,  are  bound  to  feel,  at  the 
first  palpable  touch  of  dawn.  Perfumes  and  odours 
that  could  not  be  expressed  in  words,  and  that  seemed 
to  have  no  natural  origin,  came  to  the  girl  on  the  wind 
Avhich  went  sighing  past  her.     This  —  so  at  least  Linda 


THE  DAWN 229 

vaguely  felt  —  was  not  the  west  wind  an}'  more.  It 
was  not  any  ordinary  wind  of  day  or  night.  It  was 
the  dawn  wind,  the  breath  of  the  earth  herself,  indrawn 
with  sweet  sharp  ecstasy  at  the  delicate  terror  of  the 
coming  of  the  sun-god. 

As  she  approached  the  avenue  where  the  trunks  of 
the  cedars  rose  dark  against  the  misty  white  light,  she 
was  suddenly  startled  by  the  flapping  wings  of  an 
enormous  heron  which,  mounting  up  in  front  of  her 
out  of  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  went  sailing  away  across 
the  park,  its  extended  neck  and  outstretched  legs  out- 
lined against  the  eastern  sky.  She  passed  in  among 
the  shadows  from  which  the  heron  had  emerged,  and 
there,  as  though  he  had  been  waiting  for  her  only  a 
few  moments,  was  Brand  Renshaw. 

With  one  swift  cry  she  flung  herself  into  his  arms 
and  they  clung  together  as  if  from  an  eternity  of  sep- 
aration. In  her  flimsy  dress  wet  with  mist  she  seemed 
like  a  creature  evoked  by  some  desperate  prayer  of 
earth-passion.  Her  checks  and  breast  were  cold  to 
his  touch,  but  the  lips  that  answered  his  kisses  were  hot 
as  if  with  burning  fever.  She  clung  to  him  as  though 
some  abysmal  gulf  might  any  moment  open  beneath 
their  feet.  She  nestled  against  him,  she  twined  herself 
around  him.  She  took  his  head  between  her  hands  and 
with  her  cold  fingers  she  caressed  his  face.  So  thinly 
was  she  clad  that  he  could  feel  her  heart  beating  as  if 
it  were  his  own. 

"  I  knew  you  were  calling  me,"  she  gasped  at  last. 
"  I  felt  it  —  I  felt  it  in  my  flesh.  Oh,  my  only  love, 
I'm  all  yours  —  all,  all  yours !  Take  me,  hold  me, 
save  me  from  every  one !  Hold  me,  hold  me,  my  only 
love,  hold  me  tight  from  all  of  them !  " 


230  RODMOOR 


They  swayed  together  as  she  clung  to  him  and,  lift- 
ing her  up  from  the  ground  he  carried  her,  still  wildly 
kissing  him,  into  the  deeper  shadow  of  the  great  cedars. 
Exhausted  at  last  by  the  extremity  of  her  passion, 
she  hung  limp  in  his  arms,  her  face  white  as  the  white 
light  which  now  flooded  the  eastern  horizon.  He  laid 
her  down  then  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  largest  trees 
and  bending  over  her  pushed  back  the  hair  from  her 
forehead  as  if  she  had  been  a  tired  child. 

By  some  powerful  law  of  his  strange  nature,  the  very 
intensity  of  her  passion  for  him  and  her  absolute  yield- 
ing to  his  will  calmed  and  quieted  his  own  desire.  She 
was  his  now,  at  a  touch,  at  a  movement ;  but  he  would 
as  soon  have  hurt  an  infant  as  have  embraced  her  then. 
His  emotion  at  that  moment  was  such  as  never  again 
in  his  life  he  was  destined  to  experience.  He  felt  as 
though,  untouched  as  she  was,  she  belonged  to  him, 
body  and  soul.  He  felt  as  though  they  two  together 
were  isolated,  separated,  divided,  from  the  whole  living 
world.  Beneath  the  trunks  of  those  black-foliaged  ce- 
dars they  seemed  to  be  floating  in  a  mystic  ship  over  a 
great  sea  of  filmy  white  waves. 

He  bent  down  and  kissed  her  forehead,  and  under  his 
kiss,  chaste  as  the  kiss  a  father  might  give  to  a  little 
girl,  she  closed  her  eyes  and  lay  motionless  and  still, 
a  faint-flickering  smile  of  infinite  contentment  playing 
upon  her  lips. 

They  were  in  this  position  —  the  girl's  hand  resting 
passively  in  his  —  and  he  bending  over  her,  when 
through  an  eastward  gap  between  the  trees  the  sun 
rose  above  the  mist.  It  sent  towards  them  a  long  blood- 
coloured  finger  that  stained  the  cedar  trunks  and  caused 
the  strangely  shaped  head  of  the  stooping  man  to  look 


THE  DAWN 231 

as  if  it  had  been  dipped  in  blood.  It  made  the  girl's 
mouth  scarlet-red  and  threw  an  indescribable  flush  over 
her  face,  a  flush  delicate  and  diaphanous  as  that  which 
tinges  the  petals  of  wild  hedge  roses. 

Linda  opened  her  eyes  and  Brand  leapt  to  his  feet 
with  a  cry.  "  The  sun ! "  he  shouted,  and  then,  in  a 
lower  voice,  "  what  an  omen  for  us,  little  one  —  what 
an  omen !  Out  of  the  sea,  out  of  our  sea !  Come,  get 
up,  and  let's  watch  the  morning  in !  There  won't  be 
a  trace  of  mist  left,  or  dew  either,  in  an  hour  or  so." 

He  gave  her  his  hand  and  hurriedly  pulled  her  to 
her  feet.  "  Quick !  "  he  cried.  "  You  can  see  it  across 
the  sea  from  over  there.  I've  often  seen  it,  but  never 
like  this,  never  with  you ! " 

Hand  in  hand  they  left  the  shade  of  the  trees  and 
hastening  up  the  slope  of  a  little  grassy  mound  —  per- 
haps the  grave  of  some  viking-ancestor  of  his  own  — 
they  stood  side  by  side  surveying  the  wonder  of  the 
sunrise. 

As  they  stood  there  and  the  sun,  mounting  rapidly 
higher  and  higher,  dispersed  the  mists  and  flooded 
everything  with  golden  light.  Brand's  mood  began  to 
change  towards  his  companion.  The  situation  was  re- 
versed now  and  it  was  his  arms  that  twined  themselves 
round  the  girl's  figure,  while  she,  though  only  resist- 
ing gently  and  tenderly,  seemed  to  have  recovered  the 
normal  instincts  of  her  sex,  the  instincts  of  self-pro- 
tection and  aloofness. 

The  warmer  the  sun  became  and  the  more  clearly  the 
familiar  landscape  defined  itself  before  them,  the  more 
swiftly  did  the  relations  between  the  two  change  and 
reverse.  No  longer  did  Brand  feel  as  though  some 
mystic  spiritual  union  had  anniliilated  the  difference 


232  RODMOOR 


between  their  sex.  The  girl  was  once  more  an  evasive 
object  of  pursuit.  He  desired  her  and  his  desire  irri- 
tated and  angered  him. 

"  We  shan't  have  the  place  to  ourselves  much  longer," 
he  said.  "  Come  —  let's  say  good-bye  where  we  were 
before  —  where  we  weren't  so  much  in  sight." 

He  sought  to  lead  her  back  to  the  shade  of  the  ce- 
dars ;  but  she  —  looking  timidly  at  his  face  —  felt  for 
the  first  time  a  vague  reaction  against  him  and  an  in- 
definable shrinking. 

"  I  think  I'll  say  good-bye  to  you  here,"  she  said, 
with  a  faint  smile.  "  Nance  will  be  looking  for  me 
ever^'where  and  I  mustn't  frighten  her  any  further." 

She  was  astonished  and  alarmed  at  the  change  in  his 
face  produced  by  her  words. 

"  As  you  please,"  he  said  harshly,  "  here,  as  well  as 
anywhere  else,  if  that's  your  line!  You'd  better  go 
back  the  way  you  came,  but  the  gates  aren't  locked  if 
you  prefer  the  avenue."  He  actually  left  her  when  he 
said  this,  and  without  touching  her  hand  or  giving  her 
another  look,  strode  down  the  slope  and  away  towards 
the  house. 

This  was  more  than  Linda  could  bear.  She  ran  after 
him  and  caught  him  by  the  arm.  "  Brand,"  she  whis- 
pered, "  Brand,  my  dearest  one,  you're  not  really  angry 
with  me,  are  you?  Of  course,  I'll  say  good-bye  wher- 
ever you  wish !  Only  —  only  — "  and  she  gave  an  agi- 
tated little  sigh,  "  I  don't  want  to  frighten  Nance  more 
than  I  can  help." 

He  led  her  back  to  the  spot  where,  under  the  dark 
wide-spreading  branches,  the  red  finger  of  the  sun  h&d 
first  touched  them.  She  loved  him  too  well  to  resist 
long,  and  she  loved  him  too  well  not  to  taste,  in  the 


THE  DAWN 233 

passionate  tears  that  followed  her  abandonment  to  his 
will,  a  wild  desperate  sweetness,  even  in  the  midst  of 
all  her  troubled  apprehensions  as  to  the  calamitous 
issues  of  their  love. 

It  was  in  the  same  place,  finally,  and  under  the  same 
dark  branches,  that  they  bade  one  another  good-bye. 
Brand  looked  at  his  watch  before  they  parted  and  they 
both  smiled  when  he  announced  that  it  was  nearly  six, 
and  that  at  any  moment  the  milk-cart  might  pass  them 
coming  up  from  the  village.  As  he  moved  away,  Linda 
saw  him  stoop  and  pick  up  something  from  the  ground. 
He  turned  with  a  laugh  and  flung  the  thing  towards 
her  so  that  it  rolled  to  her  feet.  It  was  a  fir-cone  and 
she  knew  well  why  he  threw  it  to  her  as  their  farewell 
signal.  They  had  wondered,  only  a  little  while  ago, 
how  it  drifted  beneath  their  cedar-tree,  and  Brand  had 
amused  himself  by  twining  it  in  her  hair. 

She  picked  it  up.  The  hair  was  twisted  about  it 
still  —  of  a  colour  not  dissimilar  from  the  cone,  but  of 
a  lighter  shade.  She  slipped  the  thing  into  her  dress 
and  let  it  slide  down  between  her  breasts.  It  scratched 
and  pricked  her  as  soon  as  she  began  to  walk,  but  this 
discomfort  gave  her  a  singular  satisfaction.  She  felt 
like  a  nun,  wearing  for  the  first  time  her  s3'mbol  of 
separation  from  the  world  —  of  dedication  to  her  lord's 
service.  "  I  am  certainly  no  nun  now,"  she  thouglit, 
smiling  sadly  to  herself,  "  but  I  am  dedicated  —  dedi- 
cated forever  and  a  day.  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  Love,  I 
would  willingly  die  to  give  you  pleasure !  " 

She  moved  away,  down  the  avenue  towards  the  vil- 
lage. She  had  not  gone  very  far  when  she  was  startled 
by  a  rustle  in  the  undergrowth  and  the  sound  of  a 
mocking  laugh.     She   stopped   in   terror.     The   laugh 


234  RODMOOR 


was  repeated,  and  a  moment  later,  from  a  well-chosen 
hiding-place  in  a  thicket  of  hazel-bushes,  Philippa  Ren- 
shaw,  with  malignant  shining  eyes,  rushed  out  upon 
her. 

"Ah!"  she  cried  joyously,  "I  thought  it  was  you. 
I  thought  it  was  one  or  other  of  you !  And  where  is 
our  dear  Brand?  Has  he  deserted  you  so  quickly? 
Does  he  prefer  to  have  his  little  pleasures  before  the 
sun  is  quite  so  high?  Does  he  leave  her  to  go  back  all 
alone  and  by  herself?  Does  he  sneak  off  like  a  thief 
as  soon  as  daylight  begins?  " 

Linda  was  too  panic-stricken  to  make  any  reply  to 
this  torrent  of  taunts.  With  drawn  white  face  and 
wide-open  terrified  eyes,  she  stared  at  Philippa  as  a 
bird  might  stare  at  a  snake.  Philippa  seemed  de- 
lighted with  the  effect  she  produced  and  stepping  in 
front  of  the  young  girl,  barred  her  way  of  escape. 

"  You  mustn't  leave  us  now,"  she  cried.  "  It's  im- 
possible. It  would  never  do.  What  will  they  say  in 
the  village  when  they  see  you  like  that,  crossing  the 
green,  at  this  hour?  What  you  have  to  do,  Linda  Her- 
rick,  is  to  come  back  and  have  breakfast  with  us  up  at 
the  house.  My  mother  will  be  delighted  to  see  you. 
She  always  gets  up  early,  and  she's  very,  very  fond  of 
you,  as  you  know.  You  do  know  my  mother's  fond  of 
you,  don't  you? 

"  Listen,  you  silly  white-faced  thing !  Listen,  you 
young  innocent,  who  must  needs  come  wandering  round 
people's  houses  in  the  middle  of  the  night !  Listen  — 
you  Linda  Herrick !  I  don't  know  whether  you're 
stupid  enough  to  imagine  that  Brand's  going  to  marry 
you?  Are  you  stupid  enough  for  that?  Are  you,  you 
dumb  staring  thing?     Because,  if  you  are,  I  can  tell 


THE  DAWN  235 


you  a  little  about  Brand  that  may  surprise  you.  Per- 
haps you  think  you're  the  first  one  he's  ever  made  love 
to  in  tills  precious  park  of  ours.  No,  no,  my  beauty, 
you're  not  the  first  —  and  you  won't  be  the  last.  We 
Renshaws  are  a  curious  famil}^,  as  you'll  find  out,  you 
baby,  before  you've  done  with  us.  And  Brand's  the 
most  curious  of  us  all ! 

"  Well,  are  you  coming  back  with  me?  Are  you  com- 
ing back  to  have  a  nice  pleasant  breakfast  with  my 
mother?  You'd  better  come,  Linda  Herrick,  you'd  bet- 
ter come !  In  fact,  you  are  coming,  so  that  ends  it. 
People  who  spend  the  night  wandering  about  other  peo- 
ple's grounds  must  at  least  have  the  decency  to  show 
themselves  and  acknowledge  the  hospitality !  Besides, 
how  glad  Brand  will  be  to  see  you  again !  Can't  you 
imagine  how  glad  he'll  be?     Can't  you  see  his  look? 

"  Oh,  no,  Linda  Herrick,  I  can't  possibly  let  you  go 
like  this.  You  see,  I'm  just  like  my  dear  mother.  I 
love  gentle,  sensitive,  pure-minded  young  girls.  I  love 
their  shyness  and  their  bashfulness.  I  love  the  unfor- 
tunate little  accidents  that  lead  them  into  parks  and 
gardens.  Come,  3'ou  dumb  big-eyed  thing!  What's 
the  matter  with  you?  Can't  you  speak?  Come! 
Back  with  you  to  the  house !  We'll  find  my  mother 
stirring  —  and  Brand  too,  unless  he's  sick  of  girls'  so- 
ciety and  has  gone  off  to  Mundham.  Come,  white-face ; 
there's  nothing  else  for  it.  You  must  do  what  I  tell 
you." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  Linda's  shoulder,  and,  such  was 
the  terror  she  excited,  the  unhappy  girl  might  actually 
have  been  magnetized  into  obeying  her,  if  a  timely  and 
unexpected  interruption  had  not  changed  the  entire 
situation.     This  was   the  appearance   upon   the  scene 


236  RODMOOR 


of  Adrian  Sorio.  Sorio  had  recently  acquired  an  al- 
most daily  habit  of  strolling  a  little  way  up  the  Oak- 
guard  avenue  before  his  breakfast  with  Baltazar.  On 
two  or  three  of  these  occasions  he  had  met  Philippa, 
and  he  had  always  sufficient  hope  of  meeting  her  to  give 
these  walks  a  tang  of  delicate  excitement.  He  had 
evidently  heard  nothing  of  Linda's  disappearance. 
Nance  in  her  distress  had,  it  seemed,  resisted  the  in- 
stinct to  appeal  to  him.  He  was  consequently  con- 
siderably surprised  to  see  the  two  girls  standing  to- 
gether in  the  middle  of  the  sunlit  path. 

Linda,  flinging  Philippa  aside,  rushed  to  meet  him. 
"  Adrian !  Adrian !  "  she  cried  piteously,  "  take  me 
home  to  Nance."  She  clung  to  his  arm  and  in  the 
misery  of  her  outraged  feelings,  began  sobbing  like  a 
child  who  has  been  lost  in  the  dark.  Sorio,  soothing 
and  petting  her  as  well  as  he  could,  looked  enquiringly 
at  Philippa  as  she  came  up. 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing.  It's  nothing,  Adrian.  It's  only 
that  I  wanted  her  to  come  up  to  the  house.  She  seems 
to  have  misunderstood  me  and  got  silly  and  frightened. 
She's  not  a  very  sensible  little  girl." 

Sorio  looked  at  Philippa  searchingly.  In  his  heart 
he  suspected  her  of  every  possible  perversity  and  mali- 
ciousness. He  realized  at  that  moment  how  entirely 
his  attraction  to  her  was  an  attraction  to  what  is  dan- 
gerous and  furtive.  He  did  not  even  respect  her  in- 
telligence. He  had  caught  her  more  than  once  play- 
ing up  to  his  ideas  in  a  manner  that  indicated  a  secret 
contempt  for  them.  At  those  moments  he  had  hated 
her,  and  —  with  her  —  had  hated,  as  he  fancied,  the 
whole  feminine  tribe  —  that  tribe  which  refuses  to  be 
impressed  even  by  world-crushing  logic.     But  how  at- 


THE  DAWN  237 


tractive  she  was  to  liim !  How  attractive,  even  at  this 
moment,  as  he  looked  into  her  defiant,  inscrutable  eyes, 
and  at  her  scornfully  curved  lips ! 

"  You  needn't  pity  her,  Adrian,"  she  went  on,  casting 
a  bitter  smile  at  Linda's  bowed  head  as  the  young  girl 
hid  her  face  against  his  shoulder.  '*  There's  no  need  to 
pity  her.  She's  just  like  all  the  rest  of  us,  only  she 
doesn't  play  the  game  frankly  and  honestly  as  I  do. 
Send  her  home  to  her  sister,  as  she  says,  and  come  with 
me  across  the  park.  I'll  show  you  that  oak  tree  if 
you'll  come  —  the  one  I  told  you  about,  the  one  that's 
haunted." 

She  threw  at  him  a  long  deep  look,  full  of  a  subtle 
challenge,  and  stretched  out  her  hand  as  if  to  separate 
him  from  the  clinging  child.  Sorio  returned  her  look 
and  a  mute  struggle  took  place  between  them.  Then 
his  face  hardened. 

"  I  must  go  back  with  her,"  he  said.  "  I  must  take 
her  to  Nance." 

"Nonsense!"  she  rejoined,  her  eyes  darkening  and 
changing  in  colour.  "  Nonsense,  my  dear !  She'll  find 
her  way  all  right.  Come !  I  really  want  you.  Yes,  I 
mean  what  I  say,  Adrian.  I  really  want  3'ou  this 
time !  " 

The  expression  with  which  she  challenged  him  now 
would  have  delighted  the  great  antique  painters  of  the 
feminine  mystery.  The  gates  of  her  soul  seemed  to 
open  inwards,  on  magical  softly-moving  hinges,  and  an 
incalculable  power  of  voluptuous  witchcraft  emanated 
from  her  whole  bod3\ 

It  is  doubtful  whether  a  spell  so  provocative  could 
have  been  resisted  by  any  one  of  an  origin  different 
from  Sorio's.     But  he  had  in  him  —  capable  of  being 


238  RODMOOR 


roused  at  moments  —  the  blood  of  that  race  in  which  of 
all  others  women  have  met  their  match.  To  this  witch- 
craft of  the  north  he  opposed  the  marble-like  disdain 
of  the  south  —  the  disdain  which  has  subtlety  and 
knowledge  in  it  —  the  disdain  which  is  like  petrified 
hatred. 

His  face  darkened  and  hardened  until  it  resembled 
a  mask  of  bronze. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  said,  "  for  the  present.  We  shall 
meet  again  —  perhaps  to-morrow.  But  anyway,  good- 
bye !     Come,  Linda,  my  child." 

"  Perhaps  to-morrow  —  and  perhaps  not!"  returned 
Philippa  bitterly.  "  Good-bye,  Linda.  I'll  give  your 
love  to  Brand !  " 

Sorio  said  little  to  his  companion  as  he  escorted  her 
back  to  her  lodging  in  the  High  Street.  He  asked  her 
no  questions  and  seemed  to  take  it  as  quite  a  natural 
thing  that  she  should  have  been  out  at  that  early  hour. 
They  discovered  Dr.  Raughty  in  the  house  when  they 
arrived,  doing  his  best  to  dissuade  Nance  from  any 
further  desperate  hunt  after  the  wanderer,  and  it  was 
in  accordance  with  the  doctor's  advice,  as  well  as  their 
own  weariness  that  the  two  sisters  spent  the  later 
morning  hours  of  their  August  Bank-holiday  in  a  pro- 
found and  exhausted  sleep. 


XVIII 
BANK-HOLIDAY 

IT  was  nearly  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when 
Nance  woke  out  of  a  heavy  dreamless  sleep.  She 
went  to  the  window.  The  shops  in  the  little 
street  were  all  closed  and  several  languid  fishermen  and 
young  tradesmen's  apprentices  were  loitering  about  at 
the  house  doors,  chaffing  lazily  and  with  loud  bursts  of 
that  peculiarly  empty  lauglitcr  which  seems  the  pre- 
rogative of  rural  idleness,  the  stray  groups  of  gaily 
dressed  young  women  who,  in  the  voluptuous  content- 
ment of  after-dinner  repletion,  were  setting  forth  to 
take  the  train  for  Mundham  or  to  walk  with  their 
sweethearts  along  the  sea-shore.  She  turned  and 
looked  closely  at  her  still  sleeping  sister. 

Linda  lay  breathing  softly.  On  her  lips  was  a  child- 
like smile  of  serene  happiness.  She  had  tossed  the  bed- 
clothes away  and  one  of  her  arms,  bare  to  the  elbow, 
hung  over  the  edge  of  the  bed.  It  seemed  she  was  hold- 
ing fast,  in  the  hand  thus  pathetically  extended,  some 
small  object  round  which  her  fingers  were  tightly  closed. 
Nance  moved  to  her  side  and  took  this  hand  in  her 
own.  The  girl  turned  her  head  uneasily  but  continued 
to  sleep.  Nance  opened  the  fingers  which  lay  help- 
lessly in  her  own  and  found  that  what  they  held  so 
passionately  was  a  small  fir-cone.  The  bright  August 
sunshine  pouring  down  upon  the  room  enabled  her  to 

catch    sight   of   several   strands   of   light   brown   hair 

239 


240  RODMOOR 


woven  round  the  thing's  rough  scales.  She  let  the  un- 
conscious fingers  close  once  more  round  the  fir-cone  and 
glanced  anxiously  at  the  sleeping  girl.  She  guessed  in 
a  moment  the  meaning  of  that  red  scratch  across  the 
girl's  bosom.  She  must  have  been  carrying  this  token 
pressed  close  against  her  flesh  and  its  rough  prickly 
edges  had  drawn  blood. 

Nance  sighed  heavily  and  remained  for  a  moment 
buried  in  gloomy  thought.  Then,  stepping  softly  to 
the  door,  she  ran  downstairs  to  see  if  Mrs.  Raps  were 
still  in  her  kitchen  or  had  left  any  preparations  for 
their  belated  dinner.  Their  habit  was  to  make  their 
own  breakfast  and  tea,  but  to  have  their  midday  meal 
brought  up  to  them  from  their  landlady's  table.  She 
found  an  admirable  collation  carefully  prepared  for 
them  on  a  tray  and  a  little  note  on  the  dresser  telling 
her  that  the  family  had  gone  to  Mundham  for  the  after- 
noon. 

"  Bless  your  poor,  dear  heart,"  the  note  ended,  *'  the 
old  man  and  I  thought  best  not  to  disappoint  the  chil- 
dren." 

Nance  felt  faint  with  hunger.  She  put  the  kettle  on 
the  fire  and  made  tea  and  with  this  and  Mrs.  Raps'  tray 
she  returned  to  her  sister's  side  and  roused  her  from 
her  sleep. 

Linda  seemed  dazed  and  confused  when  she  first  woke. 
For  the  moment  it  was  difficult  not  to  feel  as  though 
all  the  events  of  the  night  and  morning  were  a  troubled 
and  evil  dream.  Nance  noticed  the  nervous  and  be- 
wildered way  in  which  she  put  her  hand  to  the  mark 
upon  her  breast  as  if  wondering  why  it  hurt  her  and  the 
hasty  disconcerted  movement  with  which  she  concealed 
the  fir-cone  beneath  her  pillow.     In  spite  of  everything, 


BANK-HOLIDAY  241 


however,  their  meal  was  not  by  any  means  an  unhappy 
one.  The  sun  shone  warm  and  bright  upon  the  floor. 
Pleasant  scents,  in  which  garden-roses,  salt-sea  fresh- 
ness and  the  vague  smell  of  peat  and  tar  mingled  to- 
gether, came  in  through  the  window,  blent  with  the  lazy, 
cheerful  sounds  of  the  people's  holiday.  After  all  they 
were  both  young  and  neither  the  unsatisfied  ache  in  the 
soul  of  the  one  nor  the  vague  new  dread,  bitter-sweet  and 
full  of  strange  forebodings,  in  the  mind  of  the  other 
could  altogether  prevent  the  natural  life-impulse  with 
which,  like  two  wind-shaken  plants  in  an  intermission  of 
quiet,  they  raised  their  heads  to  the  sky  and  the  sun- 
shine. They  were  young.  They  were  alive.  They 
knew  —  too  well,  perhaps  !  —  but  still  they  knew  what 
it  was  to  love,  and  the  immense  future,  with  all  its  in- 
finite possibilities,  lay  before  them.  "  Sursum  Corda  !  " 
the  August  airs  whispered  to  them.  "  Sursum  Corda !  " 
*'  Lift  up  your  hearts !  "  their  own  young  flesh  and 
blood  answered. 

Linda  did  not  hesitate  as  she  ate  and  drank  to  con- 
fess to  Nance  how  she  had  betrayed  her  and  how  she 
had  seen  Brand  in  the  park.  Of  the  cedar  trees  and 
their  more  ominous  story  she  said  nothing,  but  she  told 
how  Fhilippa  had  sprung  upon  her  in  the  avenue  and  of 
wild,  cruel  taunts. 

"  She  frightened  me,"  the  girl  murmured.  "  She  al- 
ways frightens  me.  Do  you  think  she  would  really 
have  made  me  go  back  with  her  to  the  house  —  to  meet 
Brand  and  Mrs.  Renshaw  and  all?  I  couldn't  have 
done  it,"  she  put  her  hands  to  her  cheeks  and  trembled 
as  she  spoke,  "  I  couldn't  —  I  couldn't !  It  would 
have  been  too  shameful !  And  yet  I  believe  she  was 
really   going    to    make    me.     Do    you    think    she   was. 


242  RODMOOR 


Nance?  Do  you  think  she  could  have  done  such  a 
thing?  " 

Nance  gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair  savagely. 

"Why  didn't  you  leave  her,  dear?"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Why  didn't  you  simply  leave  her  and  run  off?  She 
isn't  a  witch.      She's  simply  a  girl  like  ourselves." 

Linda  smiled.  "  How  fierce  you  look,  darling !  I 
believe  if  it  had  been  you  you'd  have  slapped  her  face 
or  pushed  her  down  or  something." 

Nance  gazed  out  of  the  window,  frowning.  She 
wondered  to  herself  by  what  spiritual  magic  Mr.  Tra- 
herne  and  his  white  rat  proposed  to  obliterate  the  poi- 
sonous rage  of  jealousy.  She  wondered  what  he  would 
say,  the  devoted  priest,  to  this  uncalled  for  and  cruel 
attack  upon  her  sister.  She  had  never  heard  him  men- 
tion Philippa  at  any  time  in  their  talks.  Was  he  as 
much  afraid  of  her  beauty  as  he  pretended  to  be  of  her 
own?  Did  he  make  Philippa  hide  her  ankles  in  her  skirt 
when  she  visited  him?  But  she  supposed  she  never  did 
visit  him.  It  was  somehow  very  difficult  to  imagine  the 
sister  of  Brand  Renshaw  in  the  priest's  little  study. 

From  Traherne,  Nance's  mind  wandered  to  Dr. 
Raughty.  How  kind  he  had  been  to  her  when  she  was 
in  despair  about  Linda !  She  had  never  seen  him  half 
so  serious  or  troubled.  She  could  hardly  help  smiling 
as  she  remembered  the  peculiar  expression  he  wore  and 
the  way  he  pulled  on  his  coat  and  laced  up  his  boots. 
She  had  let  him  give  her  a  little  glass  of  creme  de 
menthe  and  she  could  see  now,  with  wonderful  dis- 
tinctness, the  gravity  with  which  he  had  watched  her 
drink  it.  She  felt  certain  his  hand  had  shaken  with 
nervousness  when  he  took  the  glass  from  her.  She 
could  hear  him  clearing  his  throat  and  muttering  some 


BANK-HOI.IDAY 213 

fantastic  invocation  to  what  sounded  like  an  Egyptian 
divinity.  Surely  the  effect  of  extreme  anxiety  could 
produce  upon  no  one  else  in  the  world  but  Dr.  Rau^^hty 
a  tendency  to  allude  to  the  great  god  Ra !  And  what 
extraordinary  things  he  had  put  into  his  little  black 
bag  as  he  sallied  forth  with  her  to  the  bridge !  Linda 
might  have  been  in  need  of  several  kinds  of  surgical  op- 
erations from  the  preparations  he  made. 

He  had  promised  to  spend  that  day  on  a  fishing  trip, 
out  to  sea,  with  Adrian  and  Baltazar.  She  wondered 
whether  their  boat  was  still  in  sight  or  whether  they  had 
got  beyond  the  view  of  Rodnioor  harbour. 

"  Linda,  dear,"  she  said  presently,  catching  her  sis- 
ter's hand  feeling  about  under  her  pillows  for  the  fir- 
cone she  had  hidden,  "  Linda,  dear,  if  I'm  to  forgive 
you  for  what  you  did  last  night,  for  running  away  from 
me,  I  mean,  and  pretending  things,  will  you  do  some- 
thing that  I  want  now,?  Will  you  come  down  to  the 
shore  and  see  if  we  can  see  anything  of  Adrian's  boat? 
He's  fishing  with  Dr.  Raughty  and  Mr.  Stork,  and  I'd 
love  to  get  a  sight  of  their  sail.  I  know  it's  a  sailing 
boat  they've  gone  in  because  Dr.  Raughty  said  he  was 
going  to  take  his  mackintosh  so  that  when  they  went 
fast  and  the  water  splashed  over  the  side  he  might  be 
protected.  I  think  he  was  a  little  scared  of  the  ex- 
pedition. Poor  dear  man,  between  us  all,  I'm  afraid 
we  give  him  a  lot  of  shocks  !  " 

Linda  jumped  up  quite  eagerly.  She  felt  prepared 
at  that  moment  to  do  anything  to  please  her  sister. 
Besides,  there  were  certain  agitating  thoughts  in  her 
brain  which  cried  aloud  for  any  kind  of  distraction. 
They  dressed  and  went  out,  choosing,  as  suited  the  holi- 
day occasion,  brighter  frocks  and  gayer  hats  than  they 


244  RODMOOR 


had  worn  for  many  weeks.  Nance's  position  in  the 
Pontifex  shop  was  a  favourable  one  as  far  as  their  ward- 
robe was  concerned. 

They  made  their  way  down  to  the  harbour.  They 
were  surprised,  and  in  Linda's  case  at  any  rate  not  very 
pleasantly  surprised,  to  find  tied  to  a  post  where  the 
wharf  widened  and  the  grass  grew  between  the  cobble- 
stones the  little  grey  pony  and  brown  pony-cart  which 
Mrs.  Renshaw  was  in  the  habit  of  using  when  the  hot 
weather  made  it  tiring  for  her  to  walk. 

"  Let's  go  back !  Oh,  Nance,  let's  go  back !  "  whis- 
pered Linda  in  a  panic-stricken  voice.  "  I  don't  feel  I 
can  face  her  to-day." 

They  stood  still,  hesitating. 

"  There  she  is,"  cried  Nance  suddenly,  "  look  — 
who's  she  got  there  with  her.'*  " 

"  Oh,  Nance,  it's  Rachel,  yes,  it's  Rachel !  " 

"  She  must  have  gone  to  Dyke  House  to  fetch  her," 
murmured  the  other.     "  Quick  !     Let's  go  back." 

But  it  was  already  too  late.  Rising  from  the  seat 
where  they  were  talking  together  at  the  harbour's  edge, 
the  two  women  moved  towards  the  girls,  calling  them  by 
name.  There  was  no  escape  now  and  the  sisters  ad- 
vanced to  meet  them. 

They  made  a  strange  foreground  to  the  holiday 
aspect  of  the  little  harbour,  those  two  black-gowned  fig- 
ures. Mrs.  Renshaw  was  a  little  in  front  and  her  less 
erect  and  less  rigid  form  had  a  certain  drooping  pathos 
in  its  advance  as  though  she  deprecated  her  appearance 
in  the  midst  of  so  cheerful  a  scene.  Both  the  women 
wore  old-fashioned  bonnets  of  a  kind  that  had  been  dis- 
carded for  several  years ;  but  the  dress  and  the  bonnet 
of  Rachel  Doorm  presented  the  appearance  of  having 


BANK-HOLIDAY 245 

been  dragged  out  of  some  ancient  chest  and  thrust  upon 
her  in  disregard  of  the  neglected  condition  of  her  other 
clothes.  Contrasted  with  the  brightly  rocking  waters 
of  the  river  mouth  and  the  gay  attire  of  the  boat-load 
of  noisy  lads  and  girls  that  was  drifting  sea-ward  on 
the  out-flowing  tide,  the  look  of  the  two  women,  as  they 
crossed  the  little  quay,  might  have  suggested  the  sort 
of  scene  that,  raised  to  a  poetic  height  by  the  genius 
of  the  ancient  poets,  has  so  often  in  classical  drama 
symbolized  the  approach  of  messengers  of  ill-omen. 

Mrs.  Renshaw  greeted  the  two  sisters  very  nervously. 
Nance  caught  her  glancing  with  an  air  of  ascetic  dis- 
approval at  their  bright-coloured  frocks  and  hats. 
Rachel,  avoiding  their  eyes,  extended  a  cold  limp  hand 
to  each  in  turn.  They  exchanged  a  few  conventional 
and  embarrassed  sentences,  Nance  as  usual  under  such 
circumstances,  giving  vent  to  little  uncalled  for  bursts 
of  rather  disconcerting  laughter.  She  had  a  trick  of 
opening  her  mouth  very  wide  when  she  laughed  like  this, 
and  her  grey  eyes  even  wider  still,  which  gave  her  an 
air  of  rather  foolish  childishness  quite  inexpressive  of 
what  might  be  going  on  in  her  mind. 

After  a  while  they  all  moved  off,  as  if  by  an  in- 
stinctive impulse,  away  from  the  harbour  mouth  and 
towards  the  sea-shore.  To  do  this  they  had  to  pass  a 
piece  of  peculiarly  desolate  ground  littered  with  dead 
fish,  discarded  pieces  of  nets  and  dried  heaps  of  sun- 
bleached  seaweed.  Nance  had  a  moment's  quaint  and 
morbid  intimation  that  the  peculiar  forlornness  of  this 
particular  spot  gratified  in  some  way  the  taste  of  Mrs. 
Renshaw,  for  her  expression  brightened  a  little  and  she 
moved  more  cheerfully  than  when  under  the  eyes  of  the 
loiterers  on  the  wharf.     There  were  some  young  women 


246  RODMOOR 


paddling  in  the  sea  just  at  that  place  and  some  young 
men  watching  them  so  that  Mrs.  Renshaw,  who  with 
Nance  kept  in  advance  of  the  other  two,  led  the  way 
along  the  path  immediately  under  the  sand-dunes.  This 
was  the  very  spot  where,  on  the  day  of  their  first  ex- 
ploration of  the  Rodmoor  coast,  they  had  seen  the 
flowerless  leaves  of  the  little  plant  called  the  rock-rose. 
The  flowers  of  this  plant,  as  Nance  observed  them  now, 
were  already  faded  and  withered,  but  other  sea  growths 
met  her  eye  which  were  not  unfamiliar.  There  were 
several  tufts  of  grey-leaved  sea-pinks  and  still  greyer 
sea-lavender.  There  were  also  some  flaccid-stalked, 
glaucous  weeds  which  she  had  never  noticed  before  and 
which  seemed  in  the  moist  sappy  texture  of  their  foliage 
as  though  their  natural  place  was  rather  beneath  than 
above  the  salt  water  whose  propinquity  shaped  their 
form.  But  what  made  her  pause  and  stoop  down  with 
sudden  startled  attention,  was  her  first  sight  of  that 
plant  described  to  her  by  Mr.  Traherne  as  peculiarly 
characteristic  of  the  Rodmoor  coast.  Yes,  there  it  was 
—  the  yellow  horned  poppy !  As  she  bent  over  it 
Nance  realized  how  completely  right  the  priest  had  been 
in  what  he  said.  The  thing's  oozy,  clammy  leaves  were 
of  a  wonderful  bluish  tint,  a  tint  that  nothing  in  the 
world  short  of  the  sea  itself,  could  have  possibly  called 
into  existence.  They  were  spiked  and  prickly,  these 
leaves,  and  their  shape  was  clear-edged  and  threatening, 
as  if  modelled  in  sinister  caprice,  by  some  Da  Vinci- 
like Providence,  willing  enough  to  startle  and  shock 
humanity.  But  what  struck  the  girl  more  vividly  than 
either  the  bluish  tint  or  the  threatening  spikes  were  the 
large,  limply-drooping  flowers  of  a  pallid  sulphurous 
yellow  which  the  plant  displayed.     They  were  flowers 


BANK-HOLIDAY 247 

that  bore  but  small  resemblance  to  the  flowers  of  other 
poppies.  They  had  a  peculiarly  melancholy  air,  even 
before  they  began  to  fade,  an  air  as  though  the  taste  of 
their  petals  would  produce  a  sleep  of  a  deeper,  more 
obliterating  kind  than  any  "  drowsy  syrups "  or 
"  mandragora "  which  the  sick  soul  might  crave,  to 
"  rase  out  "  its  troubles. 

Mrs.  Renshaw  smiled  as  Nance  rose  from  her  long 
scrutiny  of  this  weird  plant,  a  plant  that  might  be 
imagined  "  rooting  itself  at  ease  on  Lethe's  wharf  " 
while  the  ghost-troops  swept  by,  whimpering  and  wail- 
ing. 

"  I  always  like  the  horned  poppy,"  she  remarked, 
"  it's  different  from  other  flowers.  You  can't  imagine 
it  growing  in  a  garden,  can  you?  I  like  that.  I  like 
things  that  are  wild  —  things  no  one  can  imprison." 

She  sighed  heavily  when  she  had  said  this  and,  turn- 
ing her  head  away  as  they  walked  on,  looked  wearily 
across  the  water. 

"  Bank-holidays  are  days  for  the  young,"  she  went 
on,  after  a  pause.  "  The  poor  people  look  forward  to 
them  and  I'm  glad  they  do  for  they  have  a  hard  life. 
But  you  must  have  a  young  heart,  Nance,  a  young 
heart  to  enjoy  these  things.  I  feel  sometimes  that  we 
don't  live  enough  in  other  people's  happiness  but  it's 
hard  to  do  it  when  one  gets  older." 

She  was  silent  again  and  then,  as  Nance  glanced  at 
her  sympathetically,  "  I  like  Rodmoor  because  there 
are  no  grand  people  here  and  no  motor-cars  or  noisy 
festivities.  It's  a  pleasure  to  see  the  poor  enjoying 
themselves  but  the  others,  they  make  my  head  ache! 
They  trouble  me.  I  always  think  of  Sodom  and  Go- 
morrah when  I  see  them." 


248  RODMOOR 


"  I  suppose,"  murmured  the  girl,  "  that  they're  human 
beings  and  have  their  feelings,  like  the  rest  of  us." 

A  shadow  of  almost  malignant  bitterness  crossed  Mrs. 
Renshaw's  face. 

"  I  can't  bear  them !  I  can't  bear  them !  "  she  cried 
fiercel3\  "  Those  that  laugh  shall  weep,"  she  added, 
looking  at  her  companion's  prettily  designed  dress. 

"  Yes,  I'm  afraid  happy  people  are  often  hard- 
hearted," remarked  Nance,  anxious  if  possible  to  fall  in 
with  the  other's  mood,  but  feeling  decidedly  uneasy. 
Mrs.  Renshaw  suddenly  changed  the  conversation. 

"  I  went  over  to  see  Rachel,"  she  said,  "  because  I 
heard  you  had  left  her  and  were  working  in  the  shop." 

She  took  a  deep  breath  and  her  voice  trembled. 

"  I  think  it  was  wrong  of  you  to  leave  her,"  she 
went  on,  "  I  think  it  was  cruel  of  you.  I  know  what 
you  will  say.  I  know  what  all  you  young  people  nowa- 
days say  about  being  independent  and  so  forth.  But  it 
was  wrong  all  the  same,  wrong  and  cruel !  Your  duty 
was  clearly  to  your  mother's  friend.  I  suppose,"  she 
added  bitterly,  "  you  didn't  like  her  sadness  and  loneli- 
ness.    You  wanted  more  cheerful  companionship." 

Nance  wondered  in  her  heart  whether  Mrs.  Renshaw's 
hostility  to  the  complacent  and  contented  ones  of  the 
earth  was  directed,  in  this  case,  against  the  hard-worked 
sewing  girls  or  against  poor  Miss  Pontifex  and  her  little 
garden. 

"  I  did  it,"  she  replied,  "  for  Linda's  sake.  She  and 
Miss  Doorm  didn't  seem  happy  together." 

As  she  spoke,  she  glanced  apprehensively  round  to 
ascertain  how  near  the  others  were,  but  it  seemed  as 
though  Rachel  had  resumed  her  ascendency  over  the 
young  girl.     They  appeared  to  be  engaged  in  absorb- 


BAyK-IIOLIDAY 249 

ing  conversation  and  had  stopped  side  by  side,  looking 
at  the  sea.  Mrs.  Renshaw  turned  upon  her  resentfully, 
a  smouldering  fire  of  anger  in  her  brown  eyes. 

"  Rachel  has  spoken  to  me  about  that,"  she  said. 
"  She  told  me  you  were  displeased  with  her  because  she 
encouraged  Linda  to  meet  my  son.  I  don't  like  this 
interference  with  the  feelings  of  people !  My  son  is  of 
an  age  to  choose  for  himself  and  so  is  your  sister.  Why 
should  you  set  yourself  to  come  between  them.''  I  don't 
like  such  meddling.     It's  interfering  with  Nature  !  " 

Nance  stared  at  her  blankly,  watching  mechanically 
the  feverish  way  her  fingers  closed  and  unclosed,  pluck- 
ing at  a  stalk  of  sea-lavender  which  she  had  picked. 

"  But  you  said  —  you  said  —  "  she  protested  feebly, 
"  that  Mr.  Renshaw  was  not  a  suitable  companion  for 
young  girls." 

"  I've  changed  my  mind  since  then,"  continued  the 
other,  "  at  any  rate  in  this  case." 

"Why.^"  asked  Nance  hurriedly.  "Why  have 
you.?" 

"  Because,"  and  the  lady  raised  her  voice  quite  loudl}', 
"  because  he  told  me  himself  the  other  day  that  it  was 
possible  that  he  would  marry  before  long." 

She  glanced  triumphantly  at  Nance.  "  So  you  see 
what  you've  been  doing !  You've  been  tr^'ing  to  inter- 
fere with  the  one  thing  I've  been  praying  for  for  years  !  " 

Nance  positively  gasped  at  this.  Had  Brand  really 
said  such  a  thing?  Or  if  he  had,  was  it  possible  that 
it  was  anything  but  a  blind  to  cover  the  tracks  of  his 
selfishness.''  But  whatever  was  the  reason  of  the  son's 
remark  it  was  clear  that  Nance  could  not,  especially  in 
the  woman's  present  mood,  justify  her  dark  suspicions 
of  him  to  his  mother.     So  she  did  nothing  but  continue 


250  RODMOOR 


to  stare,  nervously  and  helplessly,  at  the  stalk  which 
Mrs.  Renshaw's  excited  fingers  were  pulling  to  pieces. 

"  I  know  why  you're  so  opposed  to  my  son,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Renshaw  in  a  lower  and  somewhat  gentler 
tone.  "  It's  because  he's  so  much  older  than  your 
sister.  But  you're  wrong  there,  Nance.  It's  always 
better  for  the  man  to  be  older  than  the  woman.  Tenny- 
son says  that  very  thing,  in  one  of  his  poems,  I  think  in 
'  The  Princess.'  He  puts  it  poetically  of  course,  but  he 
must  have  felt  the  truth  of  it  very  strongly  or  he 
wouldn't  have  brought  it  in.  Nance,  you've  no  idea 
how  I  have  been  praying  and  longing  for  Brand  to  see 
some  one  he  felt  he  could  marry !  I  know  it's  what  he 
needs  to  make  him  happy.  That  is  to  say,  of  course, 
if  the  girl  is  good  and  gentle  and  obedient." 

The  use  of  the  word  "  obedient  "  in  this  connection 
was  too  much  for  Nance's  nerves.  Her  feelings  to- 
wards Mrs.  Renshaw  were  always  undergoing  rapid  and 
contradictory  changes.  When  she  had  talked  of  Smol- 
lett and  Dickens  in  their  little  sitting  room  the  girl  felt 
she  could  do  anything  for  her,  so  exquisitely  guileless 
her  soul  seemed,  so  spiritual  and,  as  it  were,  transpar- 
ent. But  at  this  moment,  as  she  observed  her,  there 
was  an  obstinate,  pinched  look  about  her  face  and  a 
rigid  tightening  of  all  its  lines.  It  was  an  expression 
that  harmonized  only  too  well  with  her  next  remark. 

"  Your  setting  yourself  against  my  son,"  she  said, 
"  is  only  what  I  expected.  Philippa  would  be  just  like 
you  if  I  said  anything  to  her.  All  you  young  people 
are  too  much  for  me.  You  are  too  much  for  me.  But 
I  hear  what  you  say  and  go  on  just  the  same." 

The  look  of  dogged  and  inflexible  resolution  with 
which  she  uttered  this  last  sentence  contrasted  strangely 


BANK-HOLIDAY  251 

■ —  . 

with  her  frail  aspect  and  her  weary  drooping  frame. 

But  that  phrase  about  "  obedience  "  still  rankled  in 
Nance's  mind,  and  she  could  not  help  saying, 

"  Why  is  it,  Mrs.  Renshaw,  that  you  always  speak  as 
though  all  the  dut}'  and  burden  of  marriage  rested  upon 
the  woman?  I  don't  see  why  it's  more  necessary  for 
her  to  be  good  and  gentle  than  it  is  for  the  man ! " 

Her  companion's  pallid  lips  quivered  at  this  into  a 
smile  of  complicated  irony  and  a  strange  light  came 
into  her  hollow  eyes. 

"  Ah,  my  dear,  my  dear ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  you  are 
indeed  young  yet.  When  you're  a  few  years  older  and 
have  come  to  know  better  what  the  world  is  like,  you 
will  understand  the  truth  of  what  I  say.  God  has  or- 
dered, in  his  inscrutable  wisdom,  that  there  should  be 
a  different  right  and  wrong  for  us  women,  from  what 
there  is  for  men.  It  may  seem  unjust.  It  may  be 
unjust.  We  can  no  more  alter  it  or  change  it  than  we 
can  alter  or  change  the  shape  of  our  bodies.  A  woman 
is  made  to  obey.  She  finds  her  happiness  in  obeying. 
You  young  people  may  say  what  you  please,  but  any 
deviation  from  this  rule  is  contrary  to  Nature.  Even 
the  cleverest  people,"  she  added  with  a  smile,  "  can't 
interfere  with  Nature  without  suffering  for  it." 

Nance  felt  absolutely  nonplussed.  The  woman's 
words  fell  from  her  with  such  force  and  were  uttered 
with  such  a  melancholy  air  of  finality,  that  her  indigna- 
tion died  down  within  her  like  a  flame  beneath  the  weight 
of  a  rain-soaked  garment.  Mrs.  Renshaw  looked  sadly 
over  the  brightly-rocking  expanse  of  sunlit  water,  dot- 
ted with  white  sails. 

"  It  may  appear  to  us  unjust,"  she  went  on.  "  It 
may  be  unjust.     God  does  not  seem  in  his  infinite  pleas- 


252  RODMOOR 


ure  to  have  considered  our  ideas  of  justice  in  making 
the  world.  Perhaps  if  he  had  there  would  be  no  women 
in  the  world  at  all !  Ah,  Nance,  my  dear,  it's  no  use 
kicking  against  the  pricks.  We  were  made  to  bear,  to 
endure,  to  submit,  to  suffer.  Any  attempt  to  escape 
this  great  law  necessarily  ends  in  misery.  Suffering  is 
not  the  worst  evil  in  the  world.  Yielding  to  brutal 
force  is  not  the  worst,  either.  I  sometimes  think,  from 
what  I've  observed  in  my  life,  that  there  are  depths  of 
horror  known  to  men,  depths  of  horror  through  which 
men  are  driven,  compared  with  which  all  that  we  suffer 
at  their  hands  is  paradise !  " 

Her  eyes  had  so  strange  and  illumined  an  expression 
as  she  uttered  these  words  that  Nance  could  not  help 
shuddering. 

"  We,  too,"  she  murmured,  "  fall  into  depths  of 
horror  sometimes  and  it  is  men  who  drive  us  into  them." 

Mrs.  Rcnshaw  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  She  went 
on  dreamily. 

"  We  can  console  ourselves.  We  have  our  duties. 
We  have  our  little  things  which  must  be  done.  God  has 
given  to  these  little  things  a  peculiar  consecration.  He 
has  touched  them  with  his  breath  so  that  they  are  full 
of  unexpected  consolations.  There  are  horizons  and 
vistas  in  thom  such  as  no  one  who  hasn't  experienced 
what  I  mean  can  possibly  imagine.  They  are  like  tiny 
ferns  or  flowers  —  our  *  little  things,'  Nance,  growing 
at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice." 

The  girl  could  restrain  herself  no  longer. 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you !  I  don't,  I  don't !  "  she 
cried.  "  Life  is  large  and  infinite  and  splendid  and  there 
are  possibilities  in  it  for  all  of  us  —  for  women  just  as 
much  as  men;  just,  just  as  much!" 


BANK-HOLIDAY  253 

Mrs.  Ilensliaw  smiled  at  her  witli  a  look  in  her  face 
that  was  half  pitiful  and  half  ironical.  "  You  don't 
like  my  talk  of  *  little  things.'  You  want  great  things. 
You  want  Abana  and  Pharpar,  rivers  of  Damascus ! 
Even  your  sacrifice  —  if  you  do  sacrifice  yourself  — 
must  be  striking,  stirring,  wonderful !  Ah,  my  dear, 
my  dear,  wait  a  little,  wait  a  little.  A  time  will  come 
when  you'll  learn  what  the  secret  is  of  a  woman's  life  on 
this  earth." 

Nance  made  a  desperate  gesture  of  protest.  Some- 
thing treacherous  in  her  own  heart  seemed  to  yield  to 
her  companion's  words  but  she  struggled  vigorously 
against  it. 

"  What  we  women  have  to  do,"  Mrs.  Renshaw  con- 
tinued pitilessly,  "  is  to  make  some  one  need  us  —  need 
us  with  his  whole  nature.  That  is  what  is  meant  by  lov- 
ing a  man.  Everything  else  is  mere  passion  and  tends 
to  misery.  The  more  submissive  we  are,  the  more  the}' 
need  us.  I  tell  you,  Nance,  the  deepest  instinct  in  our 
blood  is  the  instinct  to  be  needed.  When  a  person  needs 
us  we  love  him.  Everything  else  is  mere  animal  instinct 
and  burns  itself  out." 

Nance  fumbled  vaguely  and  helplessly  in  her  mind,  as 
she  listened,  to  get  back  something  of  the  high,  inspir- 
ing tone  of  Mr.  Traherne's  mystical  doctrine.  That 
had  thrilled  her  and  strengthened  her,  while  this  flung 
her  into  the  lowest  depths  of  despondency.  Yet,  in  a 
certain  sense,  as  she  was  compelled  to  admit  to  herself, 
there  was  very  little  practical  difference  between  the 
two  points  of  view.  It  was  only  that,  with  Mrs.  Ren- 
shaw, the  whole  thing  took  on  a  certain  desolate  and 
disastrous  colour  as  if  high  spirits  and  gaiety  and  ad- 
venturousness  were  wrong  in  themselves  and  as  if  noth- 


254  RODMOOR 


ing  but  what  was  pitched  in  a  low  unhappy  key  could 
possibly  be  the  truth  of  the  universe.  The  girl  had  a 
curious  feeling,  all  the  while  she  was  speaking,  that  in 
some  subtle  way  the  unfortunate  woman  was  deriving  a 
morbid  pleasure  from  putting  thrilling  and  exalted 
things  upon  a  ground  that  annihilated  the  emotion  of 
heroism. 

*'  Shall  we  go  down  to  the  sea  now,  dear.''  "  said  Mrs. 
Renshaw  suddenly.  "  The  others  will  see  us  and  fol- 
low." 

They  moved  together  across  the  clinging  sand. 
When  they  approached  the  water's  edge,  now  deserted 
of  holiday-makers,  Nance  searched  the  skyline  for  any 
sail  that  might  be  the  one  carrying  Sorio  and  his 
friends.  She  made  out  two  or  three  against  the  blue 
distance  but  it  was  quite  impossible  to  tell  which  of 
these,  if  any,  was  the  one  that  bore  the  man  who,  ac- 
cording to  her  companion's  words,  would  only  "  need  " 
her  if  she  served  him  like  a  slave. 

Mrs.  Renshaw  began  picking  up  shells  from  the 
debris-scattered  windrow  at  the  edge  of  the  wet  tide- 
mark.  As  she  did  this  and  showed  them  one  by  one  to 
Nance,  her  face  once  more  assumed  that  clear,  trans- 
parent look,  spiritual  beyond  description  and  touched 
with  a  childish  happiness,  which  the  girl  had  noticed 
upon  it  when  she  spoke  of  the  books  she  loved.  Could  it 
be  that  only  where  religion  or  the  opposite  sex  were 
concerned  this  strange  being  was  diseased  and  per- 
verted.'' If  so,  how  dreadful,  how  cruel,  that  the  two 
things  which  were  to  most  people  the  very  mainspring 
of  life  were  to  this  unhappy  one  the  deepest  causes  of 
wretchedness !  Yet  Nance  was  far  from  satisfied  with 
her  reading  of  the  mystery  of  Mrs.  Renshaw.     There 


J 


BANK-HOLIDAY  255 


was  something  in  the  woman,  in  spite  of  her  almost  sav- 
age outbursts  of  sclf-revolation,  so  aloof,  so  proud,  so 
reserved  that  the  girl  felt  only  vaguely  assured  she  was 
on  the  right  track  with  regard  to  her.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  below  that  tone  of  self-humiliating  sentiment  with 
which  she  habitually  spoke  of  both  God  and  man,  there 
was  some  deep  and  passionate  current  of  feeling,  hidden 
from  all  the  world?  Or  was  she,  essentially  and  in 
secret  truth,  cold  and  hard  and  pagan  and  only  forcing 
herself  to  drink  the  cup  of  what  she  conceived  to  be 
Christianity  out  of  a  species  of  half-insane  pride?  In 
all  her  utterances  with  regard  to  religion  and  sex  there 
was,  Nance  felt,  a  kind  of  heavy  materiality,  as  if  she 
got  an  evil  satisfaction  in  rendering  what  is  usually 
called  "  goodness  "  as  colourless  and  contemptible  as 
possible.  But  now  as  she  picked  up  a  trumpet-shaped 
shell  from  the  line  of  debris  and  held  it  up,  her  eyes 
liquid  with  pleasure,  to  the  girl's  view,  Nance  could  not 
resist  the  impression  that  she  was  in  some  strange  way  a 
creature  forced  and  driven  out  of  her  natural  element 
into  these  obscure  perversities. 

"  I  used  to  paint  these  shells  when  I  was  a  girl,"  Mrs. 
Rcnshaw  remarked. 

"  What  colour?  "  Nance  answered,  still  thinking  more 
of  the  woman  than  of  her  words.  Her  companion 
looked  at  her  and  burst  into  quite  a  merry  laugh. 

"  I  don't  mean  paint  the  shell  itself,"  she  said. 
"  You're  not  listening  to  me,  Nance.  I  mean  copy  it, 
of  course,  and  paint  the  drawing.  I  used  to  collect  sea- 
weeds too,  in  those  days,  and  dry  them  in  a  book.  I 
have  that  book  somewhere  still,"  she  added,  wistfully, 
"  but  I  don't  know  where." 

She  had   won   the   girl's   attention   completely   now. 


256  RODMOOR 


Nance  seemed  to  visualize  with  a  sudden  sting  of  infinite 
pity  the  various  little  relics  so  entirely  dissociated 
from  Rodmoor  and  its  inhabitants  which  this  reserved 
woman  must  keep  stored  up  in  that  gloomy  house. 

"  It's  a  funny  thing,"  Mrs.  Renshaw  went  on,  "  but  I 
can  smell  at  this  moment  quite  distinctly  (I  suppose  it's 
being  down  here  by  the  sea  that  makes  it  come  to  me) 
the  very  scent  of  that  book !  The  pages  used  to  get 
stuck  together  and  when  I  pulled  them  apart  there  was 
always  the  imprint  of  the  seaweed  on  the  paper.  I 
used  to  like  to  see  that.  It  was  as  though  Nature  had 
drawn  it." 

"  It's  lovely,  collecting  things,"  Nance  remarked  sym- 
pathetically. "  I  used  to  collect  butterflies  when  I  was 
a  child.  Dad  used  to  say  I  was  more  like  a  boy  than  a 
girl." 

Mrs.  Renshaw  glanced  at  her  with  a  curious  look. 

"  Nance,  dear,"  she  said  in  a  low,  trembling  voice, 
"  don't  ever  get  into  the  habit  of  trying  to  be  boyish 
and  that  sort  of  thing.  Don't  ever  do  that !  The 
only  good  women  are  the  women  who  accept  God's  will 
and  bow  to  his  pleasure.  Anything  else  leads  to  untold 
wretchedness." 

Nance  made  no  reply  to  this  and  they  both  began 
searching  for  more  shells  among  the  stranded  sea-drift. 

Over  their  heads  the  sea-gulls  whirled  with  wild  dis- 
turbed screams.  There  was  only  one  sail  on  the  horizon 
now  and  Nance  fixed  her  thoughts  upon  it  and  an  im- 
mense longing  for  Adrian  surged  up  in  her  heart. 

Meanwhile,  between  Linda  and  Miss  Doorm  a  con- 
versation much  more  sinister  was  proceeding.  Rachel 
seemed  from  their  first  encounter  and  as  soon  as  the 
girl  came  into  contact  with  her  to  reassert  all  her  old 


BANK-HOI.TDAY  257 


mastery.  She  deliberately  overcame  the  frightened 
child's  instinctive  movement  to  keep  pace  with  the  others 
and  held  her  closely  to  her  side  as  if  by  the  power  of 
some  ancient  link  between  them,  too  strong  to  be  over- 
come. 

"  Let  me  look  at  you,"  she  said  as  soon  as  their 
friends  were  out  of  hearing.  "  Let  me  look  into  your 
eyes,  my  pretty  one !  " 

She  laid  one  of  her  gaunt  hands  on  the  girl's  shoul- 
der and  with  the  other  held  up  her  chin. 

"  Yes,"  she  remarked  after  a  long  scrutiny  during 
which  Linda  seemed  petrified  into  a  sort  of  dumb  sub- 
mission, "  yes,  I  can  see  you've  struggled  against  him. 
I  can  see  you've  not  given  up  without  an  cfTort.  That 
means  that  you  have  given  up!  If  you  hadn't  fought 
against  him  he  wouldn't  have  followed  you.  He's  like 
that.  He  always  was  like  that."  She  removed  her 
hands  but  kept  her  eyes  fixed  gloomily  on  the  girl's 
face.  "  I  expect  you're  wishing  now  you'd  never  seen 
this  place,  eh?  Aren't  you  wishing  that?  So  this  is 
the  end  of  all  your  selfishness  and  your  vanity?  Yes, 
it's  the  end,  Linda  Herrick.     It's  the  end." 

She  dragged  the  girl  slowly  forward  along  the  path. 
On  their  right  as  they  advanced,  the  sun  flickered  upon 
the  rank  grasses  which  grew  intermittently  in  the  soft 
sand  and  on  their  left  the  glittering  sea  lay  calm  and 
serene  under  the  spacious  sky. 

Linda  felt  her  feet  grow  heavy  beneath  her  and  her 
heart  sank  with  a  sick  misgiving  as  she  saw  how  far 
they  had  permitted  the  others  to  outstrip  them.  Be- 
yond anything  else  it  was  the  power  of  cruel  memories 
which  held  the  young  girl  now  so  docile,  so  helpless,  in 
the  other's  hands.     The  old  panic-stricken  terror  which 


258  RODMOOR 


Rachel  had  the  power  of  exciting  in  her  when  a  child 
seemed  ineluctable  in  its  endurance.  Faintly  and  feebly 
in  her  heart  Linda  struggled  against  this  spell.  She 
longed  to  shake  herself  free  and  rush  desperately  in 
pursuit  of  the  others  but  her  limbs  seemed  turned  to 
lead  and  her  will  seemed  paralyzed. 

Rachel's  face  was  white  and  haggard.  She  seemed 
animated  by  some  frenzied  impulse  —  some  inward, 
demoniac  force  which  drove  her  on.  Drops  of  perspira- 
tion stood  out  upon  her  forehead  and  made  the  grey 
hair  that  fell  across  it  moist  and  clammy  under  the  rim 
of  her  dusty  black  hat.  Her  clothes,  as  she  held  the 
girl  close  to  her  side,  threw  upon  the  air  a  musty,  fetid 
odour. 

"Where  are  your  soft  ways  now.''"  she  went  on, 
"  your  little  clinging  ways,  your  touching  little  babyish 
y,'a.ys?  Where  are  your  whims  and  your  fancies.'* 
Your  caprices  and  your  blushes.''  Where  are  your 
white-faced  pretences,  and  your  sham  terrors,  only  put 
on  to  make  you  look  sweet.''  " 

She  had  her  hand  upon  the  girl's  arm  as  she  spoke 
and  she  tightened  her  grasp,  almost  shaking  her  in  her 
mad  malignity. 

"  Before  you  were  born  your  mother  was  afraid  of 
me,"  she  went  on.  "  Oh,  she  gained  little  by  cutting 
me  out  with  her  pretty  looks  t  She  gained  little,  Linda 
Herrick !  She  dared  scarcely  look  me  in  the  face  in 
those  days.  She  was  afraid  even  to  hate  me.  That  is 
why  you  are  what  you  are.  You're  the  child  of  her 
terror,  Linda  Herrick,  the  child  of  her  terror !  " 

She  paused  for  a  moment  while  the  girl's  breath  came 
in  gasps  through  her  white  lips  as  if  under  the  burden 
of  an  incubus. 


BANK-HOLIDAY 259 

"  Listen !  "  the  woman  hissed  at  last,  staggering  a 
little  and  actually  leaning  against  the  girl  as  though 
the  frenzy  of  her  malignity  deprived  her  of  her  strength. 
"  Listen,  Linda.  Do  you  remember  what  I  used  to 
tell  you  about  your  father?  How  in  his  heart  all  the 
time  he  loved  only  me?  How  he  would  sooner  have  got 
rid  of  your  mother  than  have  got  rid  of  me?  Do  you 
remember  that?  Listen,  then!  There's  something 
else  I  must  say  to  you  —  something  that  you've  never 
guessed,  something  that  you  couldn't  guess.  When 
you  were  — "  she  stopped,  panting  heavily  and  if  Linda 
had  not  mechanically  assisted  her  she  would  have 
fallen.  "  When  you  were  —  when  I  was  — "  Her 
breath  seemed  to  fail  her  then  completely.  She  put 
her  hand  to  her  side  and  in  spite  of  the  girl's  fee- 
ble effort  to  support  her  she  sank,  moaning,  to  the 
ground. 

Linda  looked  helplessly  round.  Nance  and  Mrs. 
Renshaw  had  passed  beyond  a  little  promontory  of 
sand-hills  and  were  concealed  from  view.  She  knelt 
down  by  Rachel's  side.  Even  then  —  even  when  those 
vindictive  dark  eyes  looked  at  her  without  a  sign  of  con- 
sciousness, they  seemed  to  hold  her  with  their  power. 
As  they  remained  mute  and  motionless  in  this  manner, 
the  prostrate  woman  and  the  kneeling  girl,  a  faint  gust 
of  wind,  blowing  the  sand  in  a  little  cloud  before  it  and 
rustling  the  leaves  of  the  horned  poppies,  brought  to 
Linda's  senses  an  odour  of  inland  fields.  She  felt  a 
dim  return,  under  this  air,  of  her  normal  faculties  and 
taking  one  of  the  woman's  hands  in  her  own  she  began 
gently  chafing  it.  Rachel  answered  to  the  touch 
and  a  shiver  passed  through  her  frame.  Then,  in  a 
flash,  intelligence  came  back  into  her  eyes  and  her  lips 


260  RODMOOR 


moved.     Linda  bent  lower  so  as  to  catch  her  words. 
They  came  brokenly,  and  in  feeble  gasps. 

"  I  loved  him  so,  I  loved  him  more  than  my  life.  He 
took  my  life  and  killed  it.  He  killed  my  heart.  He 
brought  me  those  beads  from  far  across  the  sea.  They 
were  for  me  —  not  for  her.  He  brought  them  for  me, 
I  tell  you.  I  gave  him  my  heart  for  them  and  he  killed 
it.  He  killed  it  and  buried  it.  This  isn't  Rachel's 
heart  any  more.  No !  No !  It  isn't  Rachel's. 
Rachel's  heart  has  gone  with  him  —  with  the  Captain 

—  over  great  wide  seas.     He  got  it  —  out  of  me  — 
when  —  he  —  kissed  my  mouth." 

Her  voice  died  away  in  inarticulate  mutterings. 
Then  once  more  her  words  grew  human  and  clear. 

"  My  heart  went  with  him  long  ago,  after  that,  over 
the  sea.  It  was  in  all  his  ships.  It  was  in  every  ship 
he  sailed  in  —  over  far-ofF  seas.  And  in  place  of  my 
heart  —  something  else  —  something  else  —  came  and 
lived  in  Rachel.  It  is  this  that  —  that  — "  The  in- 
telligence once  more  faded  out  of  her  eyes  and  she  lay 
stiff  and  motionless.  Linda  had  a  sudden  thought  that 
she  was  dead  and,  with  the  thought,  her  fear  of  her 
rolled  away.  Looking  at  her  now,  lying  there,  in  her 
black  dress  and  crumpled  bonnet,  she  seemed  to  see  her 
as  she  was,  a  mad,  wretched,  passion-scorched  human 
being.  It  crossed  the  young  girl's  mind  how  inconceiv- 
able it  was  that  this  haggard  image  of  desolation  had 
once  been  young  and  soft-limbed,  had  once  danced  out 
on  summer  mornings  to  meet  the  sun  as  any  other  child ! 
But  even  as  this  thought  came  to  her,  Rachel  stirred  and 
moved  again.     Her  eyes  had  a  dazed  expression  now 

—  a  clouded,  sullen,  hopeless  expression.     Slowly  and 


BANK-HOLIDAY 261 

with  laborious  effort,  refusing  Linda's  assistance,  she 
rose  to  her  feet. 

*'  Go  and  call  them,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Go 
and  call  them.  Tell  Mrs.  Renshaw  that  I'm  ill  —  that 
she  must  take  me  home.  You  won't  be  troubled  with  me 
much  longer  —  not  much  longer  !  But  you  won't  for- 
get me.  Brand  will  see  to  that !  No,  you  won't  for- 
get me,  Linda  Herrick." 

The  girl  ran  off  without  looking  back.  When  the 
three  of  them  returned,  Rachel  Doorm  seemed  to  have 
quite  resumed  her  normal  taciturnity. 

They  walked  back,  all  four  together,  to  the  har- 
bour mouth.  The  sisters  helped  the  two  women  into 
the  little  cart  and  untied  the  pony.  As  they  clattered 
away  over  the  cobble-stones,  Nance  received  from  Mrs. 
Renshaw  a  smile  of  gratitude,  a  smile  of  such  illumined 
and  spiritual  gaiety  that  it  rendered  the  pale  face  which 
it  lit  up  beautiful  with  the  beauty  of  some  ancient  pic- 
ture. 

When  the  pony-cart  had  disappeared,  Nance  and 
Linda  sat  down  together  on  the  wooden  bench  watching 
the  white  sail  upon  the  horizon  and  talking  of  Rachel 
Doorm. 

Most  of  the  holiday-makers  had  now  retired  to  their 
tea  and  a  fresh  breeze,  coming  In  with  the  turn  of  the 
tide,  blew  pleasantly  upon  the  girls'  foreheads  and  ruf- 
fled the  soft  hair  under  their  daintily  bcribboned  hats. 
Nance,  holding  in  her  fingers  the  trumpet-shaped  shell, 
found  herself  suddenly  wondering  —  perhaps  because 
the  shape  of  the  shell  reminded  her  of  it  —  whether 
Linda  had  left  that  ominous  fir-cone  behind  her  in  her 
room  or  whether  at  the  last  moment  she  had   again 


262  RODMOOR 


slipped  it  into  her  dress.  She  glanced  sideways  at  her 
sister's  girlish  bosom,  scarcely  stirring  now  as  with  her 
head  turned  she  looked  at  the  full-brimmed  tide,  and  she 
wondered  if,  under  that  white  and  pink  frock  so  coquet- 
tishly  open  at  the  throat,  there  were  any  newly  created 
blood-stains  from  the  rasping  impact  of  that  rough- 
edged  trophy  of  the  satyr-haunted  woods  of  Oakguard. 

The  afternoon  light  was  so  beautiful  upon  the  water 
at  that  moment  and  the  cries  of  the  circling  sea-gulls 
so  full  of  an  elemental  callousness  that  the  elder  girl 
experienced  a  sort  of  fierce  reaction  against  the  whole 
weight  of  this  intolerable  sex-passion  that  was  spoiling 
both  their  lives.  Something  hard,  free  and  reckless 
seemed  to  rise  up  within  her,  in  defiance  of  every  sort 
of  feminine  sentiment  and,  hardly  thinking  what  she  did 
or  of  the  effect  of  her  words,  "  Quick,  my  dear,"  she 
cried  suddenly,  "  give  me  that  fir-cone  you've  got  under 
your  dress !  " 

Linda's  hands  rose  at  once  and  she  clutched  at  her 
bosom,  but  her  sister  was  too  quick  for  her  and  too 
strong.  Nance's  feeling  at  that  moment  was  as  if  she 
were  plucking  a  snake  away.  Rising  to  her  feet  when 
she  had  secured  the  trophy,  she  lifted  up  her  arm  and, 
with  a  fierce  swing  of  her  whole  body,  flung  both  it  and 
the  shell  she  had  herself  been  holding  far  into  the  centre- 
current  of  the  inflowing  tide. 

"  So  much  for  Love !  "  she  cried  fiercely. 

The  shell  sank  at  once  to  the  bottom  but  the  fir-cone 
floated.  For  a  moment,  when  she  saw  Linda's  dismay, 
she  felt  a  pang  of  remorse.  But  she  crushed  it  fiercely 
down.  Behind  her  whole  mood  at  that  moment  was  a 
savage  reaction  from  Mrs.  Renshaw's  emotional  per- 
versity. 


BANK-HOLIDAY 2G3 

"  Come !  "  she  cried,  snatching  at  her  sister's  liantl 
as  Linda  wavered  on  the  wharf-brink  and  watched  the 
fir-cone  drift  behind  an  anchored  barge  and  disappear. 
"Come!  Let's  go  back  and  help  Miss  Pontifex  water 
her  garden.  Then  we'll  have  tea  and  then  we'll  go  for 
a  row  if  it  isn't  too  dark  !  Perhaps  Dr.  Haughty  will 
be  home  by  then  and  we'll  make  him  take  us." 

She  was  so  resolute  and  so  dominant  that  Linda  could 
do  nothing  but  meekly  submit  to  her.  Strangely 
enough  she,  too,  felt  a  certain  rebound  of  youthful  vi- 
vacity now  she  was  conscious  no  longer  of  the  rough 
wood-token  pressing  against  her  flesh.  She  also,  after 
what  she  had  heard  from  the  lips  of  Rachel,  experienced 
a  reaction  against  the  sorrow  of  "  what  men  call  love." 
Their  mood  continued  unaltered  until  they  reached  the 
gate  of  the  dressmaker's  garden. 

"  Then  it's  Dr.  Raughty  —  not  Adrian,"  the 
younger  girl  remarked  with  a  smile,  "  that  we're  to  have 
to  row  us  to-night  .f*  " 

Nance  looked  quickly  back  at  her  and  made  an  ef- 
fort to  smile  too.  But  the  sight  of  the  flower-beds  and 
the  carefully  tended  box-hedges  of  the  little  garden,  had 
been  associated  too  long  and  too  deeply  with  the  pain 
at  her  heart.  Her  smile  died  away  from  her  face  and 
it  was  in  silence  after  all  and  still  bowed,  for  all  their 
brave  revolt  under  the  burden  of  their  humanity,  that 
the  two  girls  set  themselves  to  water,  as  the  August  sun 
went  down  into  the  fens,  the  heavily-scented  phloxes  and 
sweet  lavender  of  the  admirable  Miss  Pontifex.  That 
little  lady  was  herself  at  that  moment  staring  demurely, 
under  the  escort  of  a  broad-shouldered  nephew  from 
London,  at  a  stirring  representation  of  "  East  Lynne  " 
in  a  picture  show  in  Mundham ! 


XIX 

LISTENERS 

AUGUST,  now  it  had  once  come,  proved  hotter 
than  was  usual  in  that  windy  East  Anglian  dis- 
trict Before  the  month  was  half  over  the  har- 
vest had  begun  and  the  wheat  fields  by  the  river  bank 
stood  bare  and  stubbly  round  their  shocks  of  corn. 
Twined  with  the  wheat  stalks  and  fading  now,  since 
their  support  had  been  cut  away,  were  all  those  bright 
and  brilliant  field  flowers  which  Nance  had  watched  with 
so  tender  an  emotion  in  their  yet  unbudded  state  from 
her  haunt  by  the  willow  bed.  Fumitory  and  persicaria, 
succory  and  corn  cockles,  blent  together  in  those  fra- 
grant holocausts  with  bindweed  and  hawkweed.  At  the 
edges  of  the  fields  the  second  brood  of  scarlet  poppies 
still  lingered  on  like  thin  streaks  of  spilt  red  blood  round 
the  scalps  of  closely  cropped  heads.  In  the  marshy 
places  and  by  the  dykes  and  ditches  the  newly  grown 
rush  spears  were  now  feathery  and  high,  overtopping 
their  own  dead  of  the  year  before  and  gradually  hiding 
them  from  sight.  The  last  of  all  the  season's  flowers, 
the  lavender-coloured  Michaelmas  daisies  alone  refused 
to  anticipate  their  normal  flowering.  But  even  these, 
in  several  portions  of  the  salt  marshes,  were  already 
high-grown  and  only  waiting  the  hot  month's  departure 
to  put  forth  their  autumnal  blossoms.  In  the  dusty 
corners  of  Rodmoor  yards  and  in  the  littered  out- 
skirts of  Mundham,  where  there  were  several  gravel- 

264 


LISTENERS  265 


quarries,  camomile  and  feverfew  —  those  pungent  chil- 
dren of  the  late  summer,  lovers  of  rubbish  heaps  and  de- 
serted cow  sheds  —  trailed  their  delicate  foliage  and 
friendly  flowers.  In  the  wayside  hedges,  wound-wort 
was  giving  place  to  the  yellow  spikes  of  the  flower 
called  "  archangel,"  while  those  "  buds  of  marjoram," 
appealed  to  in  so  wistful  and  so  bitter  a  strain  by  the 
poet  of  the  Sonnets,  were  superseding  the  wild  basil. 
The  hot  white  dust  of  the  road  between  Rodmoor  and 
Mundham  rose  in  clouds  under  the  wheels  of  every  kind 
of  vehicle  and,  as  it  rose,  it  swept  in  spiral  columns 
across  that  grassy  expanse  which,  in  accordance  with 
the  old  liberal  custom  of  East  Anglian  road-makers,  sep- 
arated the  highway  on  both  sides  from  the  enclosing 
hedges.  With  the  sound  of  the  corn-cutting  machine 
humming  drowsily  all  day  and,  in  the  twilight,  with  the 
shouts  and  cries  of  the  children  as  their  spirits  rose  with 
the  appearance  of  the  moths  and  bats,  there  mingled 
steadily,  day  in  and  day  out,  the  monotonous  splash  of 
the  waves  on  Rodmoor  beach. 

To  those  in  the  vicinity,  whom  Nature  or  some  ill- 
usage  of  destiny  had  made  morbidly  sensitive  to  that 
particular  sound,  there  was  perhaps  something  harder 
to  bear  in  its  placid  reiterated  rhythm  under  these 
halcyon  influences  than  when,  in  rougher  weather,  it 
broke  into  fury.  The  sound  grew  in  intensity  as  it 
diminished  in  volume  and  with  the  beat,  beat,  beat,  of  its 
eternal  refrain,  sharpened  and  brought  nearer  in  the 
silence  of  the  hot  August  noons  there  came  to  such  nerv- 
ously sensitive  ears  as  were  on  the  alert  to  receive  it, 
an  increasingly  disturbing  resemblance  to  the  sistole 
and  diastole,  the  inbreathing  and  outbreathing  of  some 
huge,  half-human  heart. 


266  RODMOOR 


Among  the  various  persons  in  Rodnioor  from  whom 
the  greater  and  more  beneficent  gods  seemed  turning 
away  their  faces  and  leaving  them  a  prey  to  the  lesser 
and  more  vindictive  powers,  it  is  probable  that  not  one 
felt  so  conscious  of  this  note  of  insane  repetition,  almost 
bestial  in  its  blind  persistence,  as  did  Philippa  Ren- 
shaw.  Philippa,  in  those  early  August  weeks,  became 
more  and  more  aloof  from  both  her  mother  and  Brand. 
She  met  Sorio  once  or  twice  but  that  was  rather  by 
chance  than  by  design  and  the  encounters  were  not 
happy  for  either  of  them.  Insomnia  grew  upon  her  and 
her  practise  of  roaming  at  night  beneath  the  trees  of 
the  park  grew  with  it.  Brand  often  followed  her  on 
these  nocturnal  wanderings  but  only  once  was  he  suc- 
cessful in  persuading  her  to  return  with  him  to  the 
house.  In  proportion  as  she  drew  aw^ay  from  him  he 
seemed  to  crave  her  society. 

One  night,  after  Mrs.  Renshaw  had  retired  to  bed, 
the  brother  and  sister  lingered  on  in  the  darkened  li- 
brary. It  was  a  peculiarly  sultry  evening  and  a  heavy 
veil  of  mist  obscured  the  young  crescent  moon. 
Through  the  open  windows  came  hot  gusts  of  air,  ruf- 
fling the  curtains  and  making  the  candle  flames  flicker. 
Brand  rose  and  blew  out  all  the  lights  except  one  which 
he  placed  on  a  remote  table  below  the  staring  dark- 
visaged  portrait,  painted  some  fifty  years  before,  of 
Herman  Renshaw,  their  father.  The  other  pictures 
that  hung  in  the  spaces  between  the  book-shelves  were 
now  reduced  to  a  shadowy  and  ghostly  obscurity,  an  ob- 
scurity well  adapted  to  the  faded  and  melancholy  linea- 
ments of  these  older,  but  apparently  no  happier,  Ren- 
shaws  of  Oakguard.  Round  the  candle  he  had  left 
alight  a  little  group  of  agitated  moths  hovered  and  at 


I 


LISTENERS  267 


intervals  as  one  or  other  of  them  got  .singed  it  would 
dash  itself  with  wild  blind  flutterings,  into  the  remotest 
corners  of  the  room.  From  the  darkness  outside  came 
an  occasional  rustle  of  leaves  and  sighing  of  branches 
as  the  gusts  of  hot  air  rose  and  died  away.  The  op- 
pressive heat  was  like  the  burden  of  a  huge,  palpable 
hand  laid  upon  the  roof  of  the  house.  Now  and  again 
some  startled  creature  pursued  by  owl  or  weasel  uttered 
a  panic-stricken  cry,  but  whether  its  enemy  seized  upon 
it,  or  whether  it  escaped,  the  eyes  of  the  darkness  alone 
knew.  Its  cry  came  suddenly  and  stopped  suddenly 
and  the  steady  beat  of  the  rhythm  of  the  night  went 
on  as  before. 

Brand  flung  himself  down  in  a  low  chair  and  his  sister 
balanced  herself  on  the  arm  of  it,  a  lighted  cigarette 
between  her  mocking  lips.  Hovering  thus  in  the  shadow 
above  him,  her  flexible  form  swaying  like  a  phantom 
created  out  of  mist,  she  might  have  been  taken  for  the 
embodiment  of  some  perverse  vision,  some  dream  avatar 
from  the  vices  of  the  dead  past. 

"  After  all,"  Brand  murmured  in  a  low  voice,  a  voice 
that  sounded  as  though  his  thoughts  were  taking  sliape 
independently  of  his  conscious  will,  "  after  all,  what  do 
I  want  with  Linda  or  any  of  them  since  I've  got  you.f"  " 

She  made  a  mocking  inclination  of  her  head  at  this 
but  kept  silence,  only  letting  her  eyes  cling,  with  a 
strange  light  in  them,  to  his  disturbed  face.  After  a 
pause  he  spoke  again. 

"  And  yet  she  suits  me  better  than  any  one  —  bet- 
ter than  I  expected  it  was  possible  for  a  girl  like  that 
to  suit  me.  She'll  never  get  over  her  fear  of  me  and 
that  means  she'll  never  get  over  her  love.  I  ought  to  be 
contented  with  that,  oughtn't  1.'*  " 


268  RODMOOR 


He  paused  again  and  still  Philippa  uttered  no  word. 
"  I  don't  think  you  quite  understand,"  he  went  on,  "  all 
that  there  is  between  her  and  me.  We  touch  one  an- 
other m  the  depths,  there's  no  doubt  about  that,  and 
our  boat  takes  us  where  there  are  no  soundings,  none  at 
least  that  I've  ever  made !  We  touch  one  another  where 
that  noise  —  oh,  damn  the  wind !  I  don't  mean  the 
wind  !  —  is  absolutely  still.  Have  you  ever  reached  a 
point  when  you've  got  that  noise  out  of  your  ears?  No 
—  you  know  very  well  you  haven't !  You  were  born 
hearing  it  —  just  as  I  was  —  and  you'll  die  hearing  it. 
But  with  her,  just  because  she's  so  afraid,  so  madly 
afraid  —  do  you  understand?  —  I  have  reached  that 
point.  I  reached  it  the  other  night  when  we  were  to- 
gether. Yes !  You  may  smile  —  you  little  devil  — 
but  it's  quite  true.  She  put  it  clear  out  of  my  head 
just  as  if  she'd  driven  the  tide  back  !  " 

He  stared  at  the  cloud  of  faint  blue  smoke  that 
floated  up  round  his  sister's  white  face  and  then  he  met 
her  eyes  again. 

"  Bah  !  "  he  flung  out  angrily.  "  What  absurd  non- 
sense it  all  is  !  We've  been  living  too  long  in  this  place, 
we  Renshaws,  that's  what's  the  matter  with  us !  We 
ought  to  sell  the  confounded  house  and  clear  out  alto- 
gether !  I  will  too,  when  mother  dies.  Yes,  I  will  — 
brewery  or  no  brewery  —  and  go  off  with  Tassar  to  one 
of  his  foreign  places.  I'll  sell  the  whole  thing,  the  land 
and  the  business !  It's  begun  to  get  on  my  nerves.  It 
must  have  got  on  my  nerves,  mustn't  it,  when  that  simple 
break,  break,  break,  as  mother's  absurd  poem  says  of 
this  damned  sea,  sounds  to  me  like  the  beating  heart  of 
something,  of  something  whose  heart  ought  to  be 
stopped  from  beating !  " 


LISTENERS  269 


His  voice  which  had  risen  to  a  loud  pitch  of  excite- 
ment died  away  in  a  sort  of  apologetic  murmur. 

"  Sorry,"  he  muttered,  "  only  don't  look  at  me  like 
that,  you  girl.  There,  clear  off  and  sit  further  away ! 
It's  that  look  of  yours  that  makes  me  talk  in  this  silly 
fashion.  God  help  us !  I  don't  blame  that  foreign  fel- 
low for  getting  queer  in  his  head.  You've  got  some- 
thing in  those  eyes  of  yours,  Philippa,  that  no  living 
girl  ought  to  be  allowed  to  have !  Bah !  You've  made 
me  talk  like  an  absolute  fool." 

Instead  of  moving  away  as  she  had  been  bidden, 
Philippa  touched  her  brother  with  a  light  caress. 
Never  had  she  looked  so  entirely  a  creature  of  the  old 
perverse  civilizations  as  she  looked  at  that  moment. 

"  Mother  thinks  you're  going  to  marry  that  girl," 
she  whispered,  "  but  I  know  better  than  that,  and  I'm 
always  right  in  these  things,  am  I  not,  Brand  darling?  " 

He  fell  back  under  her  touch  and  the  shadowy  lines 
of  his  face  contracted.  Pie  presented  the  appearance 
of  something  withered  and  crumpled.  Her  mocking 
smile  still  divided  her  curved  lips,  curved  in  the  subtle, 
archaic  way  as  in  the  marbles  of  ancient  Greece.  What- 
ever may  have  been  the  secret  of  her  power  over  him,  it 
manifested  itself  now  in  the  form  of  a  spiritual  cruelty 
which  he  found  very  difficult  to  bear.  He  made  a 
movement  that  was  almost  an  appeal. 

"  Say  I'm  right,  say  I'm  always  right  in  these 
things  !  "  she  persisted. 

But  at  that  moment  a  diversion  occurred,  caused  by 
the  sudden  entrance  of  a  large  bat.  The  creature  ut- 
tered a  weird  querulous  cry,  like  the  cry  of  a  newborn 
babe  and  went  wheeling  over  their  heads  in  desperate 
rapid  circles,  beating  against  the  bookcase  and  the  pic- 


270  RODMOOR 


ture  frames.  Presently,  attracted  by  the  light,  it 
swooped  down  upon  the  flame  of  the  candle  and  in  a  mo- 
ment had  extinguished  it,  plunging  the  room  into  com- 
plete darkness. 

Philippa,  with  a  low  taunting  laugh,  ran  across  the 
room  and  wrapped  herself  in  one  of  the  window  curtains. 

"  Open  the  door  and  drive  it  out,"  she  cried.  "  Drive 
it  out,  I  say!     Are  you  afraid  of  a  thing  like  that?  " 

But  Brand  seemed  either  to  have  sunk  into  a  kind  of 
trance  or  to  be  too  absorbed  in  his  thoughts  to  make 
any  movement.  He  remained  reclining  in  his  chair, 
silent  and  motionless. 

The  girl  cautiously  withdrew  from  her  shelter  and, 
fumbling  about  for  matches,  at  last  found  a  box  and 
struck  a  light.  Tlie  bat  flew  past  her  as  she  did  so  and 
whirled  away  into  the  night.  She  lit  several  candles 
and  held  one  of  them  close  to  her  brother's  face.  Thus 
illuminated.  Brand's  sinister  countenance  had  the  look 
of  a  mediaeval  wood-carving.  He  might  have  been  the 
protagonist  of  one  of  those  old  fantastic  prints  repre- 
senting Doctor  Faustus  after  some  hopeless  struggle 
with  his  master-slave. 

"  Take  it  away,  you !  Let  me  alone.  I've  talked  too 
much  to  you  already.  This  is  a  hot  night,  eh.''  A  hot 
night  and  the  kind  that  sets  a  person  thinking.  Bah ! 
I've  thought  too  much.  It's  thinking  that  causes  all 
the  devilries  in  the  world.  Thinking,  and  hearing 
hearts  beating,  that  ought  to  be  stopped !  " 

He  pushed  her  aside  and  rose,  stretching  himself  and 
yawning. 

"What's  the  time?  What?  Only  ten  o'clock? 
How  early  mother  must  have  gone  to  bed !  This  is  the 
kind  of  night  in  which  people  kill  their  mothers.     Yes, 


LISTENERS  271 


they  do,  Pliilippa.  You  needn't  peer  at  me  like  that ! 
And  they  do  it  when  their  mothers  have  daughters  that 
look  like  you  —  just  like  you  at  this  very  moment." 

He  leaned  against  the  back  of  a  chair  and  watched 
her  as  she  stood  negligently  by  the  mantelpiece,  her 
arm  extended  along  its  marble  surface. 

"  Why  does  mother  always  say  these  things  to  you 
about  my  marrying?  "  he  continued  in  a  broken  thick 
voice.  "  You  lead  her  on  to  think  of  these  things  and 
then  when  she  comes  out  with  them  you  bring  them  to 
me,  to  make  me  angry  with  her.  Tell  me  this,  Philippa, 
why  do  you  hate  mother  so?  Why  did  you  have  that 
look  in  your  face  just  now  when  I  talked  of  killing  her? 
What  —  would  —  you  —  Hang  it  all,  girl,  stop  star- 
ing and  smiling  at  me  like  that  or  it'll  be  you  I'll  kill ! 
Oh,  Heaven  above,  help  us !  This  hot  night  will  send 
us  all  into  Bedlam  !  " 

He  suddenly  stopped  and  began  intently  listening, 
his  eyes  on  his  sister's  face.  "  Did  you  hear  that?  "  he 
whispered  huskily.  "  She's  walking  up  and  down  the 
passage  —  walking  in  her  slippers,  that's  why  you  can 
hardly  hear  her.  Hush  !  Listen  !  She'll  go  presently 
into  father's  room.  She  always  does  that  in  the  end. 
What  do  you  think  she  does  there,  Philippa?  Rum- 
mages about,  I  suppose,  and  opens  and  shuts  drawers 
and  changes  the  pictures  !  What  people  we  are !  God 
—  what  people  we  are !  I  suppose  the  sound  of  her  do- 
ing all  that  irritates  you  till  your  brain  nearly  bursts. 
It's  a  strange  thing,  isn't  it,  this  family  life!  Human 
beings  like  us  weren't  meant  to  be  stuck  in  a  hole  to- 
gether like  wasps  in  a  bottle.  Listen !  Do  you  hear 
that?  She's  doing  something  to  his  window  now.  A 
lot  he  cares,  six  feet  under  the  clay !     But  it  shows  how 


272  RODMOOR 


lie  holds  her  still,  doesn't  it?  "  lie  made  a  gesture  in 
the  direction  of  his  father's  picture  upon  which  the 
candle-light  shone  clearly  now,  animating  its  heavy  fea- 
tures. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  continued  solemnly,  looking 
closely  at  his  sister  again,  "  I  believe  one  of  these  nights, 
when  she  walks  up  and  down  like  that,  in  her  soft  slip- 
pers, you'll  go  straight  up  and  kill  her  yourself.  Yes, 
I  believe  you  listen  like  this  every  night  till  you  could 
put  your  fingers  in  your  ears  and  scream." 

He  moved  across  the  room  and,  approaching  his 
sister,  shook  her  roughly  by  the  arm.  Some  psychic 
change  in  the  atmosphere  about  them  seemed  to  have 
completely  altered  their  relations. 

"  Confess  —  confess  —  you  girl !  "  he  muttered 
harshly.  "  Confess  now  —  w^hen  you  go  rushing  off 
like  that  into  the  park  it  isn't  to  see  that  foreign  fellow 
at  all?  It  isn't  even  to  lie,  as  I  know  you  love  to  do, 
touching  the  stalks  of  the  poison  funguses  with  the  tip 
of  your  tongue  under  the  oak  trunks?  It's  to  escape 
from  hearing  her,  tliat's  what  it  is !  Confess  now.  It's 
to  escape  from  hearing  her !  " 

He  suddenly  relaxed  his  grasp  and  stood  erect,  listen- 
ing intently.  The  sweet  heavy  scent  of  magnolia 
petals  floated  in  through  the  window  and  somewhere  — 
far  off  among  the  trees  —  a  screech-owl  uttered  a 
broken  wail,  followed  by  the  flapping  of  Avings.  The 
clock  in  tlie  hall  outside  began  striking  the  hour.  Be- 
fore each  stroke  a  ponderous  metallic  vibration  trembled 
through  the  silent  house. 

"  It's  only  ten  now,"  he  said.  "  The  clock  in  here 
is  fast." 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  loud  ring  at  the  entrance 


LISTENERS  273 


door.  The  brotlar  and  sister  stared  blankly  at  one 
another  and  then  Philippa  gave  a  low  unnatural  laugh. 
"  We  might  be  criminals,"  she  whispered.  They  in- 
stinctively assumed  more  easy  and  less  dramatic  posi- 
tions and  waited  in  silence,  while  from  the  distant  serv- 
ants' quarters  some  one  came  to  answer  the  summons. 
They  heard  the  door  opened  and  the  sound  of  sup- 
pressed voices  in  the  hall.  There  was  a  moment's  pause, 
during  which  Philippa  looked  mockingly  and  enquiringly 
at  Brand. 

"  It's  our  dear  priest,"  she  whispered,  "  and  some  one 
else,  too." 

Surely  the  fool's  not  going  to  try  — "  began  Brand. 
Mr.  Traherne  and  Dr.  Haughty !  "  announced  the 
servant,  opening  the  library  door  and  holding  it  open 
while  the  visitors  entered. 

The  clergyman  advanced  first.  He  shook  hands  with 
Brand  and  bowed  with  old-fashioned  courtesy  to 
Philippa.  Dr.  Raughty,  following  him,  shook  hands 
with  Philippa  and  nodded  nervously  at  her  brother. 
The  two  men  sank  into  the  seats  offered  them  and  ac- 
cepted an  invitation  to  smoke.  Brand  moved  to  a  side 
table  and  mixed  for  them,  with  an  air  of  resigned  polite- 
ness, cool  and  appropriate  drinks.  He  drank  nothing 
himself,  however,  but  his  sister,  with  a  mocking  apology 
to  Mr.  Traherne,  lit  herself  a  cigarette. 

"  How's  the  rat?  "  she  began,  throwing  a  teasing  and 
provocative  smile  upon  the  priest's  perturbed  counte- 
ance. 

"  Out  there,"  he  replied,  emptying  his  glass  at  one 
gulp. 

"What?  In  vour  coat  pocket  on  such  a  night  as 
this?" 


274  RODMOOR 


Mr.  Trahernc  put  down  his  glass  and  inserted  his 
huge  workman's  fingers  into  the  bosom  of  his  cassock. 

"  Nothing  under  this  but  a  shirt,"  he  said.  "  Cas- 
socks have  no  pockets." 

"Haven't  they?"  laughed  Brand.  "They  have 
something  then  where  you  can  put  money.  That  is, 
unless  you  parsons  are  like  kangaroos  and  have  some 
natural  little  orifice  in  which  to  hide  the  offerings  of  the 
faithful." 

"  Is  he  happy  always  in  your  pocket  ?  "  enquired 
Philippa. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  see?  "  replied  the  priest,  rising 
with  a  movement  that  almost  upset  the  table.  "  I'll 
bring  him  in  and  I'll  make  him  go  scimble-scamble  all 
about  the  room." 

The  tone  in  which  he  uttered  these  words  said,  as 
plainly  as  words  could  say,  "  You're  a  pretty,  silly, 
flirtatious  piece  of  femininity !  You  only  talk  about 
my  rat  for  the  sake  of  fooling  me.  You  don't  really 
care  whether  he's  happy  in  my  pocket  or  not.  It's 
only  out  of  consideration  for  your  silly  nerves  that  I 
don't  play  with  him  now.  And  if  you  tease  me  an  inch 
more  I  will,  and  make  him  run  up  your  petticoats,  too !  " 

"  Sit  down  again,  Traherne,"  said  Brand,  "  and  let 
me  fill  up  your  glass.  We'll  all  visit  the  rat  presently 
and  find  him  some  supper.  Just  at  present  I'm  anx- 
ious to  know  how  things  are  in  the  village.  I  haven't 
been  down  that  way  for  weeks." 

This  was  a  direct  challenge  to  the  priest  to  come, 
without  further  delay,  to  the  matter  of  his  visit.  Ha- 
mish  Traherne  accepted  it. 

"  We  came  really,"  he  said,  "  to  see  you,  Renshaw. 
A  little  later,  perhaps  before  we  go,  we  must  have  our 


LISTENERS  275 


conversation.     We  hardly  expected  to  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  finding  Miss  Philippa  sitting  up  so  late." 

Dr.  Raughtj,  who  all  this  while  had  been  watching 
with  the  most  intense  delight  the  beauty  of  the  girl's 
white  skin  and  scarlet  lips  and  the  indescribable  charm 
of  her  sinuous  figure,  now  broke  in  impetuously. 

"  But  it  can  wait !  It  can  wait !  Oh,  please  don't 
go  to  bed  yet,  Miss  Renshaw.  Look,  your  cigarette's 
out !  Throw  it  away  and  try  one  of  these.  They're 
French,  they're  the  yellow  packets,  I  know  you  like 
them.  They're  what  you  smoked  once  when  we  were 
on  the  river  —  when  you  caught  that  great  perch." 

Philippa,  who  had  risen  to  her  feet  at  Traherne's 
somewhat  brusque  remark,  came  at  once  to  the  Doctor's 
side. 

"  Oh,  the  perch,"  she  cried,  "  yes,  I  should  think  I 
do  remember !  You  insisted  on  killing  it  at  once  so 
that  it  shouldn't  jump  back  into  the  water.  You  put 
your  thumb  into  its  mouth  and  bent  back  its  head. 
Oh,  yes !  That  j'cllow  packet  brings  it  all  back  to  me. 
I  can  smell  the  sticky  dough  we  tried  to  catch  dace 
with  afterwards  and  I  can  see  the  look  of  your  hands 
all  smeared  with  blood  and  silver  scales.  Oh,  that  was 
a  lovely  day,  Doctor !  Do  you  remember  how  you 
twisted  those  things,  bryony  leaves  they  were,  round 
my  head  when  the  others  had  gone.''  Do  you  remem- 
ber how  you  said  you'd  like  to  treat  me  as  you  treated 
the  perch.''  Do  you  remember  how  you  ran  after  a 
dragon-fly  or  something?  " 

She  stopped  breathlessly  and,  balancing  herself  on 
the  arm  of  the  Doctor's  chair,  blew  a  great  cloud  of 
smoke  over  his  head,  filling  the  room  in  a  moment  with 
the  pungent  odour  of  French  tobacco. 


276  RODMOOR 


Both  Traherne  and  Brand  regarded  her  with  aston- 
ishment. She  seemed  to  have  transformed  herself  and 
to  have  become  a  completely  different  person.  Her 
eyes  shone  with  childish  gaiety  and  when  she  laughed, 
as  she  did  a  moment  afterwards  at  some  sally  of  the 
Doctor's,  there  was  a  ring  of  unforced,  spontaneous 
merriment  in  the  sound  such  as  her  brother  had  not 
heard  for  many  years.  She  continued  to  bend  over 
Dr.  Raughty's  chair,  covering  them  both  in  a  thick 
cloud  of  cigarette  smoke,  and  the  two  of  them  soon 
became  absorbed  in  some  intricate  discussion  concern- 
ing, as  far  as  the  others  could  make  out,  the  question 
of  the  best  bait  to  be  used  for  pike. 

The  priest  took  the  opportunity  of  delivering  him- 
self of  what  was  on  his  mind. 

"  I'm  afraid,  Renshaw,"  he  said,  "  you've  gone  your 
own  way  in  that  matter  of  Linda  Herrick.  No  !  Don't 
deny  it.  You  may  not  have  seen  her  as  often  as  be- 
fore our  last  conversation,  but  you've  seen  her.  She's 
confessed  as  much  to  me  herself.  Now  look  here,  Ren- 
shaw, you  and  I  have  known  one  another  for  some  good 
few  years.  How  long  is  it,  man.?  Fifteen,  twenty? 
It  can't  be  less.  Long  enough,  anyway,  for  me  to  have 
earned  the  right  to  speak  quite  plainly  and  I  tell  you 
this,  you  must  stop  the  whole  business ! " 

His  voice  sank  as  he  spoke  to  a  formidable  whisper. 
Brand  glanced  round  at  the  others  but  apparently  they 
were  quite  preoccupied.     Mr.  Traherne  continued. 

"  The  whole  business,  Renshaw !  After  this  you  must 
leave  that  child  absolutely  alone.  If  you  don't  —  if 
you  insist  on  going  on  seeing  her  —  I  shall  take  strong 
measures  with  you.     I  shall  —  but  I  needn't  say  any 


LISTENERS  277 


more !     I  tliink  jou  can  make  a  pretty  shrewd  guess 
what  I  shall  do." 

Brand  received  this  solemn  ultimatum  in  a  way  cal- 
culated to  cause  the  agitated  man  who  addressed  it  to 
him  a  shock  of  complete  bewilderment.  He  yawned 
carelessly  and  stretched  out  his  long  arms. 

"  As  you  please,  Hamish,"  he  said,  "  I'm  perfectly 
ready  not  to  see  her.  In  fact,  I  probably  shouldn't 
have  seen  her  in  any  case.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I've 
got  a  bit  sick  of  the  whole  thing.  These  young  girls 
are  silly  little  feather-weights  at  best.  It's  first  one 
mood  and  then  another !  You  can't  be  sure  of  them 
for  two  hours  at  a  stretch.  So  it's  all  right,  Hamish 
Traherne !  I  won't  interfere  with  her.  You  can  make 
a  nun  of  her  if  you  like  —  or  whatever  else  you  fancy. 
All  I  beg  of  you  is,  don't  go  round  talking  about 
me  to  your  parishioners.  Don't  talk  about  me  to 
Raughty !  I  don't  want  my  affairs  discussed  by  any 
one  —  not  even  by  my  friends.  All  right,  my  boy  — 
you  needn't  look  at  me  like  that.  You've  known  me, 
as  you  say,  long  enough  to  know  what  I  am.  So  there 
you  are !  You've  had  your  answer  and  you've  got  my 
word.  I  don't  mind  even  your  calling  it  *  the  word  of 
a  gentleman  '  as  you  did  the  other  night.  You  can 
call  it  what  you  like.  I'm  not  going  to  see  Linda  for 
a  reason  quite  personal  and  private  but  if  you  like  to 
make  it  a  favour  to  yourself  that  I  don't  —  well! 
throw  that  in,  too  !  " 

Hamish  Traherne  thrust  his  hand  into  his  cassock 
thinking,  for  the  moment,  that  it  was  his  well-worn 
ulster  and  that  he  would  feel  the  familiar  form  of 
Ricoletto. 


278  RODMOOR 


It  may  be  noted  from  this  futile  and  unconscious 
gesture,  how  much  hangs  in  this  world  upon  insignifi- 
cant threads.  Had  the  priest's  fingers  touched  at  that 
moment  the  silky  coat  of  his  little  friend  he  would 
have  derived  sufficient  courage  to  ask  his  formidable 
host  point-blank  whether,  in  leaving  Linda  in  this  way, 
he  left  her  as  innocent  and  unharmed  as  when  he  crossed 
her  path  at  the  beginning.  Not  having  Ricoletto  with 
him,  however,  and  his  fingers  encountering  nothing  but 
his  own  woolen  shirt,  he  lacked  the  inspiration  to  carry 
the  matter  to  this  conclusion.  Thus,  upon  the  trifling 
accident  of  a  tame  rodent  having  been  left  outside  a 
library  or,  if  you  will,  upon  an  eccentric  parson  having 
no  pocket,  depended  the  whole  future  of  Linda  Her- 
rick.  For,  had  he  put  that  question  and  had  Brand 
confessed  the  truth,  the  priest  would  undoubtedly,  un- 
der every  threat  in  his  power,  have  commanded  him  to 
marry  her  and  it  is  possible,  considering  the  mood  the 
man  was  in  at  that  moment  and  considering  also  the 
nature  of  the  threat  held  over  him,  he  would  have  bowed 
to  the  inevitable  and  undertaken  to  do  it. 

The  intricate  and  baffling  complications  of  human 
life  found  further  illustration  in  the  very  nature  of 
this  mysterious  threat  hinted  at  so  darkly  by  Mr.  Tra- 
herne.  It  was  in  reality  —  and  Brand  knew  well  that 
it  was  —  nothing  more  or  less  than  the  making  clear 
to  Mrs.  Renshaw  beyond  all  question  or  doubt,  of  the 
actual  character  of  the  son  she  tried  so  conscientiously 
to  idealize.  For  some  basic  and  profound  reason,  in- 
herent in  his  inmost  nature,  it  was  horrible  to  Brand 
to  think  of  his  mother  knowing  him.  She  might  sus- 
pect and  she  might  know  that  he  knew  she  suspected, 
but  to  have  the  thing  laid  quite  bare  between  them 


LISTENERS  279 


would    be    to    send    a    rending    and    shattering    crack 
through   the   unconscious   hypocrisy   of   twenty   years. 
For   certain    natures    any   drastic    cleavage   of   slowly 
built-up  moral  relations  is  worse  than  death.     Brand 
would  have  felt  less  remorse  in  being  the  cause  of  his 
mother's  death  than  of  being  the  cause  of  her  knowing 
him  as  he  really  was.     The  matter  of  Linda  being  thus 
settled  between  the  two  men,  if  the  understanding  so 
reached   could   be   regarded   as   settling  it,   they   both 
turned  round,  anxious  for  some  distraction,  to  the  quar- 
ter of  the  room  where  their  friends  had  been  conversing. 
But  Philippa  and  the  Doctor  were  no  longer  with  them. 
Brand  looked  whimsically  at  the  priest  who,  shrugging 
his   shoulders,  poured  himself  out  a  third  glass   from 
the  decanter  on  the  table.     They  then  moved  to  the 
window  which  reached  almost  to  the  ground.     Stepping 
over  its  low  ledge,  they  passed  out  upon  the  terrace. 
They   were   at    once   aware    of   a    change   in    the   at- 
mospheric  conditions.     The  veil  of  mist  had   entirely 
been   swept    away    from    the   sky.     The   vast   expanse 
twinkled  with  bright  stars  and,  far  down  among  the 
trees,  they  could  discern  the  cresent  form  of  the  new 
moon. 

Brand  pulled  towards  him  a  spray  of  damask  roses 
and  inhaled  their  sweetness.  Then  he  turned  to  his 
companion  and  gave  him  an  evil  leer. 

"  The  Doctor  and  Philippa  have  taken  advantage  of 
our  absorbing  conversation,"  he  remarked. 

"  Nonsense,  man,  nonsense !  "  exclaimed  the  priest. 
"  Raughty's  only  showing  her  some  sort  of  moth  or 
beetle.  Can't  you  stop  your  sneering  for  once  and 
look  at  things  humanly  and  naturally?  " 

His    words     found    their     immediate    justification. 


280  RODMOOR 


Turning  the  corner  of  the  house  thej  discovered  the 
two  escaped  ones  on  their  knees  by  the  edge  of  the  dew- 
drenched  lawn  watching  the  movements  of  a  toad.  The 
Doctor  was  gently  directing  its  advance  with  the  stalk 
of  a  dead  geranium  and  Philippa  was  laughing  as  mer- 
rily as  a  little  girl. 

They  now  realized  the  cause  of  the  disappearance 
of  the  sultriness  and  the  heat.  From  over  the  wide- 
stretching  fens  came,  with  strong  steady  breath,  the 
northwest  wind.  It  came  with  a  full  deep  coolness 
in  it  which  the  plants  and  the  trees  seemed  to  drink 
from  as  out  of  some  immortal  cistern.  It  brought  with 
it  the  odour  of  immense  marsh-lands  and  fresh  inland 
waters  and  as  it  bowed  the  trees  and  rustled  over  the 
flower-beds,  it  seemed  to  obliterate  and  drive  back  all 
indications  of  their  nearness  to  the  sea. 

Haughty  and  Philippa  rose  to  their  feet  at  the  ap- 
proach of  their  friends. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Brand,  "  what's  the  name  of  that 
great  star  over  there  —  or  planet  —  or  whatever  it 
is.?" 

They  all  surveyed  the  portion  of  the  sky  he  indicated 
and  contemplated  the  unknown  luminary. 

"  I  wish  they'd  taught  me  astronomy  instead  of 
Greek  verses  when  I  was  at  school,"  sighed  Mr.  Tra- 
herne. 

"  It's  Venus,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Dr.  Raughty. 
"Isn't  it  Venus,  Philippa?" 

The  girl  looked  from  the  men  to  the  sky,  and  from 
the  sky  to  the  men. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  set  of  wise  fellows,"  she  cried,  "  not 
to  know  the  star  which  rules  us  all !  And  that's  not 
Venus,    Doctor!     Don't    any    of    you    really    know.? 


LISTENERS  281 


Brand  —  you  surely  do?  Well,  I'll  tell  you  then,  that's 
Jupiter,  that's  the  lord-star  Jupiter  !  " 

And  she  burst  into  a  peal  of  ringing  boyish  laugh- 
ter. Brand  turned  to  the  Doctor,  who  had  moved  away 
to  cast  a  final  glance  at  the  toad. 

"What  have  you  done  to  her,  Fingal?"  he  called 
out.     "  She  hasn't  laughed  like  that  for  years." 

The  only  answer  he  received  to  this  was  an  em- 
barrassed cough,  but  when  they  returned  to  the  library 
and  began  looking  at  some  of  the  more  interesting  of 
the  volumes  in  its  shelves  it  was  noticed  by  both  Brand 
and  Mr.  Traherne  that  the  Doctor  treated  the  young 
girl  with  a  frank,  direct,  simple  and  humorous  friend- 
liness as  if  completely  oblivious  of  her  sex. 


XX 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE 


THE  hot  weather  continued  with  the  intermis- 
sion of  only  a  few  wet  and  windy  days  all 
through  the  harvest.  One  Saturday  after- 
noon Sorio,  who  had  arranged  to  take  Nance  by  train 
to  Mundham,  loitered  with  Baltazar  at  the  head  of  the 
High  Street  waiting  the  girl's  appearance.  She  had 
told  him  to  meet  her  there  rather  than  at  her  lodging 
because  since  the  occasion  when  they  took  refuge  in 
the  cottage  it  had  been  agitating  to  her  to  see  Linda 
and  Baltazar  together.  She  knew  without  any  ques- 
tion asked  that  for  several  weeks  her  sister  had  seen 
nothing  of  Brand  and  she  was  extremely  unwilling,  now 
that  the  one  danger  seemed  removed,  that  the  child 
should  risk  falling  into  another. 

Nance  herself  had  lately  been  seeing  more  of  her 
friend's  friend  than  she  liked.  It  was  difficult  to  avoid 
this,  however,  now  that  they  lived  so  near,  especially 
as  Mr.  Stork's  leisure  times  between  his  journeys  to 
Mundham,  coincided  so  exactly  with  her  own  hours  of 
freedom  from  work  at  the  dressmaker's.  But  the  more 
she  saw  of  Baltazar,  the  more  difficult  she  found  it  to 
tolerate  him.  With  Brand,  whenever  chance  threw 
him  across  her  path,  she  was  always  able  to  preserve 
a  dignified  and  conventional  reserve.  She  saw  that 
he  knew  how  deep  her  indignation  on  behalf  of  her  sis- 
ter went  and  she  could  not  help  respecting  him  for  the 

282 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  283 

tact  and  discretion  with  which  he  accepted  her  tacit 
antagonism  and  made  any  embarrassing  clash  between 
them  easy  to  avoid.  At  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she 
had  never  felt  any  personal  dislike  of  Brand  Renshaw, 
nor  did  that  peculiar  fear  which  he  seemed  to  inspire 
in  the  majority  of  those  who  knew  him  affect  her  in 
the  least.  She  would  have  experienced  not  the  slightest 
trepidation  in  confronting  him  on  her  sister's  behalf 
if  circumstances  demanded  it  and  meanwhile  she  only 
asked  that  they  should  be  left  in  peace. 

But  with  Baltazar  it  was  different.  She  disliked 
him  cordially  and,  with  her  dislike,  there  mingled  a 
considerable  element  of  quite  definite  fear.  The  pre- 
cise nature  of  this  fear  she  was  unable  to  gauge.  In  a 
measure  it  sprang  from  his  unfailing  urbanity  and  the 
almost  effusive  manner  in  which  he  talked  to  her  and 
rallied  her  with  little  witticisms  whenever  they  met. 
Nance's  own  turn  of  mind  was  singularly  direct  and 
simple  and  she  could  not  avoid  a  perpetual  suspicion  in 
dealing  with  Mr.  Stork  that  the  man  was  covertly 
mocking  at  her  and  seeking  to  make  her  betray  herself 
in  some  way.  There  was  something  about  his  whole 
personality  which  baffled  and  perplexed  her.  His  lan- 
guid and  effeminate  manner  seemed  to  conceal  some 
hard  and  inflexible  attitude  towards  life  which,  like  a 
steel  blade  in  a  velvet  scabbard,  was  continually  on 
the  point  of  revealing  its  true  nature  and  yet  never 
actually  did.  She  completely  distrusted  his  influence 
over  Sorio  and  indeed  carried  her  suspicion  of  him  to 
the  extreme  point  of  even  doubting  his  affection  for  his 
old-time  friend.  Nothing  about  him  seemed  to  her  gen- 
uine or  natural.  When  he  spoke  of  art,  as  he  often 
did,  or  uttered  vague,  cynical  commentaries  upon  life 


284  RODMOOR 


in  general,  she  felt  towards  him  just  as  a  girl  feels 
towards  another  girl  whose  devices  to  attract  attention 
seem  to  be  infringing  the  legitimate  limit  of  recognized 
rivalry.  It  was  not  only  that  she  suspected  him  of 
every  sort  of  hypocritical  diplomacy  or  that  every  atti- 
tude he  adopted  seemed  a  deliberate  pose;  it  was  that 
in  some  indescribably  subtle  way  he  seemed  to  make  her 
feel  as  if  her  own  gestures  and  speeches  were  false.  He 
troubled  and  agitated  her  to  such  an  extent  that  she 
was  driven  sometimes  into  a  mood  of  such  desperate 
self-consciousness  that  she  did  actually  become  in- 
sincere or  at  any  rate  felt  herself  saying  and  doing 
things  which  failed  to  express  what  she  really  had  in 
her  mind.  This  was  especially  the  case  when  he  was 
present  at  her  encounters  with  Sorio.  She  found  her- 
self on  such  occasions  uttering  sometimes  the  wildest 
speeches,  speeches  quite  far  from  her  natural  charac- 
ter, and  even  when  she  tried  passionately  to  be  herself 
she  was  half-conscious  all  the  while  that  Baltazar  was 
watching  her  and,  so  to  speak,  clapping  his  hands  en- 
couragingly and  urging  her  on.  It  was  just  as  if  she 
heard  him  whispering  in  her  ear  and  saying,  "  That's 
a  pretty  speech,  that's  an  effective  turn  of  the  head, 
that's  a  happily  timed  smile,  that's  an  appealing  little 
silence ! " 

His  presence  seemed  to  perplex  and  bewilder  the 
very  basis  and  foundation  of  her  confidence  in  herself. 
What  was  natural  he  made  unnatural  and  what  was 
spontaneous  he  made  premeditated.  He  seemed  to  dive 
down  into  the  very  depths  of  her  soul  and  stir  up  and 
make  muddy  and  clouded  what  was  clearest  and  simplest 
there.  The  little  childish  impulses  and  all  the  impetu- 
ous girlish  movements  of  her  mind  became  silly  and 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  285 

forced  when  he  was  present,  became  sonietliing  that 
miglit  have  been  different  had  she  willed  them  to  be 
different,  something  that  she  was  deliberately  using  to 
bewitch  Adrian. 

The  misery  of  it  was  that  she  couldnt  be  otherwise, 
that  she  couldn't  look  and  talk  and  laugh  and  be  silent, 
in  any  other  manner.  And  yet  he  made  her  feel  as  if 
this  were  not  only  possible  but  easy.  He  was  diabol- 
ically and  mercilessly  clever  in  his  malign  clairvoyance. 
Nance  was  not  so  simple  as  not  to  recognize  that  there 
are  a  hundred  occasions  when  a  girl  quite  legitimately 
and  naturally  "  makes  the  best  "  of  her  passing  moods 
and  feelings.  She  was  not  so  stupid  as  not  to  know 
that  the  very  diffusion  of  a  woman's  emotions,  through 
every  fibre  and  nerve  of  her  being,  lends  itself  to  in- 
numerable little  exaggerations  and  impulsive  under- 
scorings,  so  to  speak,  of  the  precise  truth.  But  it  was 
just  these  very  basic  or,  if  the  phrase  may  be  per- 
mitted, these  "  organic "  characteristics  of  her  self- 
expression,  that  Baltazar's  unnatural  watchfulness  was 
continually  pouncing  on.  In  some  curious  way  he  suc- 
ceeded, though  himself  a  man,  in  betraying  the  very 
essence  of  her  sex-dignity.  He  threw  her,  in  fact,  into 
a  position  of  embarrassed  self-defence  over  what  were 
really  the  inevitable  accompaniments  of  her  being  a 
woman  at  all. 

The  unfairness  of  the  thing  was  constantly  being 
accentuated  and  made  worse  by  the  fact  of  her  having 
so  often  to  listen  to  bitter  and  sarcastic  diatribes  from 
both  Adrian  and  his  friend,  directed  towards  her  sex  in 
general.  A  sort  of  motiveless  jibing  against  women 
seemed  indeed  one  of  the  favourite  pastimes  of  the  two 
men  and  Nance's  presence,  when  this  topic  came  for- 


286  RODMOOR 


ward,  appeared  rather  to  enhance  than  mitigate  their 
hostility. 

On  one  or  two  occasions  of  this  kind,  Dr.  Raughty 
had  happened  to  be  present  and  Nance  felt  she  would 
never  forget  her  gratitude  to  this  excellent  man  for 
the  genial  and  ironical  way  he  reduced  them  to  silence. 

"  I'm  glad  you  have  invented,"  he  would  say  to  them, 
**  so  free  and  inexpensive  a  way  of  getting  born. 
You've  only  to  give  us  a  little  more  independence  and 
death  will  be  equally  satisfactory." 

On  this  particular  afternoon,  however,  Baltazar  was 
not  encouraging  Sorio  in  any  misogynistic  railings. 
On  the  contrary  he  was  endeavouring  to  soothe  his 
friend  who  at  that  moment  was  in  one  of  his  worst 
moods. 

"Why  doesn't  she  come?"  he  kept  jerking  out. 
"  She  knows  perfectly  how  I  hate  waiting  in  the  street." 

"  Come  and  sit  down  under  the  trees,"  suggested 
Baltazar.  "  She's  sure  to  come  out  on  the  green  to 
look  for  you  and  we  can  see  her  from  there." 

They  moved  off  accordingly  and  sat  down,  side  by 
side,  with  a  group  of  village  people  under  the  ancient 
sycamores.  Above  them  the  nameless  Admiral  looked 
steadily  seawards  and  in  the  shadow  thrown  by  the 
trees  several  ragged  little  girls  were  playing  sleepily  on 
the  burnt-up  grass. 

"  It's  extraordinary,"  Sorio  remarked,  "  what  a  lot 
of  human  beings  there  are  in  the  world  who  would  be 
best  out  of  it !  They  get  on  my  nerves,  these  people. 
I  think  I  hear  them  more  clearly  and  feel  them  nearer 
me  here  than  ever  before  in  my  life.  Every  person  in 
a  place  like  this  becomes  more  important  and  asserts 
himself  more,  and  the  same  is  true  of  every  sound.     If 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  287 


you  want  really  to  escape  I'roin  liuinanity  tliere  are  only 
two  things  to  do,  either  go  right  away  into  the  desert 
where  there's  not  a  living  soul  or  go  into  some  large 
city  where  you're  absolutely  lost  in  the  crowd.  This 
half-and-half  existence  is  terrible." 

"  My  dear,  my  dear,"  protested  his  companion,  "  you 
keep  complaining  and  grumbling  but  for  the  life  of  me 
I  can't  make  out  what  it  is  that  actuall}'  annoys  you. 
By  the  way,  don't  utter  your  sentiments  too  loudly ! 
These  honest  people  will  not  understand." 

"  What  annoys  me  —  you  don't  understand  what  an- 
noys me.''"  muttered  the  other  peevishly.  "It  annoys 
me  to  be  stared  at.  It  annoys  me  to  be  called  out 
after.  It  annoys  me  to  be  recognized.  I  can't  move 
from  your  door  without  seeing  some  face  I  know  and 
what's  still  worse,  seeing  that  face  put  on  a  sort  of  silly, 
inquisitive,  jeering  look,  as  much  as  to  sa}',  '  Ho !  Ho ! 
here  is  that  idiot  again.  Here  is  that  fool  who  sponges 
upon  Mr.  Stork  !     Here  is  that  spying  foreign  devil ! '  " 

"  Adrian  —  Adrian,"  protested  his  companion,  "  3'ou 
really  are  becoming  impossible.  I  assure  you  these 
people  don't  say  or  think  anything  of  the  kind !  The}' 
just  see  you  and  greet  you  and  wish  you  well  and  pass 
on  upon  their  own  concerns." 

"  Oh,  don't  they,  don't  they,"  cried  the  other,  for- 
getting in  his  agitation  to  modulate  his  voice  and  caus- 
ing a  sudden  pause  in  the  conversation  that  was  going 
on  at  their  side.  "  Don't  they  think  these  things !  I 
know  humanity  better.  Every  single  person  who  meets 
another  person  and  knows  anything  at  all  about  him 
wants  to  show  that  he's  a  match  for  his  little  tricks, 
that  he's  not  deceived  by  his  little  ways,  that  he  knows 
where  he  gets  his  money  or  doesn't  get  it  and  what 


288  RODMOOR 


woman  he  wants  or  doesn't  want  and  which  of  his  par- 
ents he  wishes  dead  and  buried!     I  tell  you  you've  no 
idea  what  human  beings  are  really  like!     You  haven't 
any  such  idea,  for  the  simple  reason  that  you're  abso- 
lutely  hard  and   self-centred  yourself.     You  go  your 
own  way.     You  think  your  own  thoughts.     You  create 
your  own  fancy-world.     And  the  rest  of  humanity  are 
nothing  —  mere  pawns  and  puppets  and  dream-figures 
—  nothing  —  simply  nothing !     I'm  a  completely  dif- 
ferent nature  from  you,  Tassar.     I've  got  my  idea  — 
my  secret  —  but  I'd  rather  not  talk  about  that  and 
you'd  rather  not  hear.     But  apart  from  that,  I'm  sim- 
ply helpless.      I  mean  I'm  helplessly  conscious  of  every- 
thing round  me!     I'm  porous  to  things.     It's  really 
quite  funny.     It's  just  as  if  I  hadn't  any  skin,  as  if 
my  soul  hadn't  any  skin.     Everything  that  I  see,  or 
hear,  Tassar  —  and  the  hearing  is  worse,  oh,  ever  so 
much   worse  —  passes    straight    through    me,    straight 
through  the  very  nerves  of  my  inmost  being.     I  feel 
sometimes  as  though  my  mind  were  like  a  piece  of  parch- 
ment,  stretched   out   taut   and   tight   and  every  single 
thing  that  comes  near  me  taps  against  it,  tip-tap,  tip- 
tap,  tip-tap,  as  if  it  were  a  drum !     That  wouldn't  be 
so  bad  if  it  wasn't  that  I  know  so  horribly  clearly  what 
people  are  thinking.     For  instance,  when  I  go  down 
that  alley  to  the  station,  as  I  shall  soon  with  Nance, 
and  pass  the  workmen  at  their  doors,  I  know  perfectly 
well   that   they'll   look   at   me   and   say   to   themselves, 
'  There   goes   that   fool   again,'   or,   '  There   goes   that 
slouching  idiot  from  the  cottage,'  but  that's  not  all, 
Tassar.     They  soon  have  the  sense  to  see  that  I'm  the 
kind  of  person  who  shrinks  from  being  noticed  and  that 
pleases  them.     They  nudge  one  another  then  and  look 


RAVELSTQN  GRANGE  289 

more  closely  at  nie.  They  do  their  best  to  make  me  un- 
derstand that  they  know  their  power  over  me  and  intend 
to  use  it,  intend  to  nudge  one  another  and  look  at  me 
every  time  I  pass.  I  can  read  exactly  what  their 
thoughts  are.  They  say  to  themselves,  '  He  may  slink 
off  now  but  he'll  have  to  come  this  way  again  and 
then  we'll  see !  Then  we'll  look  at  him  more  closely. 
Then  we'll  find  out  what  he's  after  in  these  parts  and 
why  that  pretty  girl  puts  up  with  him  so  long ! '  " 

He  was  interrupted  at  that  moment  by  a  roar  of 
laughter  from  the  group  beside  them  and  Baltazar 
rose  and  pulled  him  away.  "  Upon  my  soul,  Adrian," 
he  whispered,  as  he  led  him  back  across  the  green,  "  you 
must  behave  better !  You've  given  those  honest  fellows 
something  to  gossip  about  for  a  week.  They'll  think 
you  really  are  up  to  something,  you  can't  shout  like 
that  without  being  listened  to  and  you  can't  quarrel 
with  the  whole  of  humanity." 

Adrian  turned  fiercely  round  on  him.  "Can't  I?" 
he  exclaimed.  "  Can't  I  quarrel  with  humanity?  You 
wait,  my  friend,  till  I've  got  my  book  published.  Then 
you'll  see !  I  tell  j^ou  I'll  strike  this  cursed  human  race 
of  yours  such  a  blow  that  they'll  w^ish  they'd  treated  a 
poor  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth  a  little  better 
and  spared  him  something  of  their  prying  and  peer- 
ing!" 

"Your  book!"  laughed  Baltazar.  "A  lot  they'll 
care  for  your  book !  That's  alwa^'s  the  way  with  you 
touchy  philosophers.  You  stir  up  the  devil  of  a  row 
with  your  bad  temper  and  make  the  most  harmless  peo- 
ple into  enemies  and  then  you  think  you  can  settle  it  all 
and  prove  yourselves  right  and  everybody  else  wrong 
by  writing  a  book.     Upon  my  soul,  Adrian,  if  I  didn't 


290  RODMOOR 


love  you  very  much  indeed  I'd  be  inclined  to  let  you 
loose  on  life  just  to  see  whether  you  or  it  could  strike 
the  hardest  blows  !  " 

Sorio  looked  at  him  with  a  curiously  bewildered  look. 
He  seemed  puzzled.  His  swarthy  Roman  face  wore  a 
clouded,  weary,  crushed  expression.  His  brow  con- 
tracted into  an  anxious  frown  and  his  mouth  quivered. 
His  air  at  that  moment  was  the  air  of  a  very  young 
child  that  suddenly  finds  the  world  much  harder  to  deal 
with  than  it  expected. 

Baltazar  watched  him  with  secret  pleasure.  These 
were  the  occasions  when  he  always  felt  strangely  drawn 
towards  him.  That  look  of  irresolute  and  bewildered 
weakness  upon  a  countenance  so  powerfully  moulded 
filled  him  with  a  most  delicate  sense  of  protective  pity. 
He  could  have  embraced  the  man  as  he  watched  him, 
blinking  there  in  the  afternoon  sunshine,  and  fumbling 
with  the  handle  of  his  stick. 

But  at  that  moment  Nance  appeared,  walking  rap- 
idly with  bent  head,  up  the  narrow  street.  Baltazar 
looked  at  her  with  a  gleam  of  hatred  in  his  sea-coloured 
eyes.  She  came  to  rob  him  of  one  of  the  most  exqui- 
site pleasures  of  his  life,  the  pleasure  of  reducing  this 
strong  creature  to  humiliated  submissiveness  and  then 
petting  and  cajoling  him  back  into  self-respect.  The 
knowledge  that  he  left  Sorio  in  her  hands  in  this  par- 
ticular mood  of  deprecatory  helplessness,  remorseful 
and  gentle  and  like  a  wild  beast  beaten  into  docility, 
caused  him  the  most  acute  pain.  With  poisonous  an- 
tagonism under  his  urbane  greeting  he  watched  fur- 
tively the  quick  glance  she  threw  at  Adrian  and  the 
way  her  eyes  lingered  upon  his,  feeling  her  way  into 
his  mood.     He  cast  about  for  some  element  of  discord 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  291 

that  he  could  evoke  and  leave  behind  with  them  to  spoil 
the  girl's  triumph  for  he  knew  well  that  Adrian  was 
now,  after  what  had  just  occurred,  in  the  frame  of  mind 
most  adapted  of  all  to  the  influence  of  feminine  sym- 
pathy. Nance,  however,  did  not  give  him  an  oppor- 
tunity for  this. 

"  Come  on,"  she  said,  "  we've  only  just  time  to  catch 
the  three  o'clock  train.  Come  on !  Good-bye  for  a 
while,  Mr.  Stork.  I'll  bring  him  back  safe  to  you, 
sooner  or  later.  Come  on,  Adrian,  we  really  must  be 
quick  !  " 

They  went  off  together  and  Baltazar  wandered 
slowly  back  across  the  green.  He  felt  for  the  moment 
so  lonely  that  even  his  hatred  drifted  away  and  sank 
to  nothingness  under  the  inflowing  wave  of  bitter  uni- 
versal isolation.  As  he  approached  his  cottage  he 
stopped  stone-still  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground  and  his 
hands  behind  his  back.  Elegantly  dressed  in  pleasant 
summer  clothes,  his  slight  graceful  figure,  easy  bearing, 
and  delicate  features,  gave  without  doubt  to  the  casual 
bystanders  who  observed  him,  an  impression  of  un- 
mitigated well-being.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  had  that 
discerning  historic  personage  who  is  reported  to  have 
exclaimed  after  an  interview  with  Jonathan  Swift, 
"  there  goes  the  unhappiest  man  who  ever  lived,"  exer- 
cised his  insight  now,  he  might  have  modified  his  con- 
clusion in  favour  of  Baltazar  Stork. 

It  would  certainly  have  required  more  than  ordinary 
discernment  to  touch  the  tip  of  the  iron  wedge  that  was 
being  driven  just  then  into  this  graceful  person's  brain. 
Looking  casually  into  the  man's  face  one  would  have 
seen  nothing  perhaps  but  a  dreamy,  pensive  smile  — 
a  smile  a  little  bitter  maybe,  and  self-mocking  but  with 


292  RODMOOR 


no  particularly  sinister  import.  A  deeper  glance,  how- 
ever, would  have  disclosed  a  curious  compression  of  the 
lines  about  the  mouth  and  a  sort  of  indrawing  of  the 
lips  as  if  Mr.  Stork  were  about  to  emit  the  sound  of 
whistling.  Below  the  smiling  surface  of  the  eyes,  too, 
there  might  have  been  seen  a  sort  of  under-flicker  of 
shuddering  pain  as  if,  without  any  kind  of  anaesthetic, 
Mr.  Stork  were  undergoing  some  serious  operation. 
The  colour  had  deserted  his  cheeks  as  if  whatever  it  was 
he  was  enduring  the  endurance  of  it  had  already  ex- 
hausted his  physical  energies.  Passing  him  by,  as  we 
have  remarked,  casually  and  hastily,  one  might  have 
said  to  oneself  — "  Ah !  a  handsome  fellow  chuckling 
there  over  some  pleasant  matter !  "  but  coming  close  up 
to  him  one  would  have  instinctively  stretched  out  a 
hand,  so  definitely  would  it  then  have  appeared  that, 
whatever  his  expression  meant,  he  was  on  the  point  of 
fainting.  It  was  perhaps  a  fortunate  accident  that, 
at  this  particular  moment  as  he  stood  motionless,  a 
small  boy  of  his  acquaintance,  the  son  of  one  of  the 
Rodmoor  fishermen,  came  up  to  him  and  asked  whether 
he  had  heard  of  the  great  catch  there  had  been  that 
day. 

"  There's  a  sight  o'  fish  still  there,  Mister,"  the  boy 
remarked,  "  some  of  them  monstrous  great  flounders 
and  a  heap  of  Satans  such  as  squirts  ink  out  of  their 
bellies ! " 

Baltazar's  twisted  lips  gave  a  genuine  smile  now. 
A  look  of  extraordinary  tenderness  came  into  his  face. 

"  Ah,  Tony,  my  boy,"  he  said,  "  so  there  are  fish 
down  there,  are  there?  Well,  let's  go  and  see!  You 
take  me,  will  you?  And  I'll  make  those  fellows  give 
you  some  for  supper." 


RAVELSTOX  GRANGE  293 

They  walked  together  across  the  green  and  down  the 
street.  Baltazar's  hand  remained  upon  the  child's 
shoulder  and  he  listened  as  lie  walked,  to  his  chatter; 
but  all  the  while  his  mind  visualized  an  immense,  empty 
plain  —  a  plain  of  steely-blue  ice  under  a  grey  sky  — 
and  in  the  center  of  this  plain  a  bottomless  crevasse, 
also  of  steely-blue  ice,  and  on  the  edge  of  this  crevasse, 
gradually  relinquishing  their  hold  from  exhaustion,  two 
human  hands.  This  image  kept  blending  itself  as  they 
walked  with  all  the  little  things  which  his  eyes  fell  upon. 
It  blent  with  the  cakes  in  the  confectioner's  window. 
It  blent  with  the  satiny  blouses,  far  too  expensive  for 
any  local  purchaser,  in  Miss  Pontifex's  shop.  It  blent 
with  the  criss-cross  lines  of  the  brick -work  varied  with 
flint  of  the  house  where  Dr.  Raughty  lived.  It  blent 
with  their  first  glimpse  of  the  waters  of  the  harbour, 
seen  between  two  ramshackle  houses  with  gable  roofs. 
Nor  when  they  finally  found  themselves  standing  with 
a  little  crowd  of  men  and  boys  round  a  circle  of  fish- 
baskets  upon  the  shore  did  it  fail  to  associate  itself 
both  with  the  blue  expanse  of  waveless  sea  stretched 
before  them  and  with  the  tangled  mass  of  sea  shells, 
seaweed  and  sea  creatures  which  lay  exposed  to  the 
sunlight,  many-coloured  and  glistening  as  the  deeper 
folds  of  the  nets  which  had  drawn  them  from  the  deep 
were  explored  and  dragged  forward. 

Meanwhile  Adrian  and  Nance,  having  safely  caught 
their  train,  were  being  carried  with  the  leisurely  stead- 
iness of  a  local  line,  from  Rodmoor  to  Mundham. 
Jammed  tightly  into  a  crowded  compartment  full  of 
Saturday  marketers,  they  had  little  opportunity  dur- 
ing the  short  journey  to  do  more  than  look  helplessly 
across   their  perspiring  neighbours   at   the  rising  and 


294  RODMOOR 


falling  of  the  telegraph  wires  against  a  background  of 
blue  sky.  The  peculiar  manner  in  which,  as  a  train 
carries  one  forward,  these  wires  sink  slowly  downwards 
as  if  they  were  going  to  touch  the  earth  and  then  leap 
up  with  an  unexpected  jerk  as  the  next  pole  comes  by, 
was  a  phenomenon  that  always  had  a  singular  fascina- 
tion for  Sorio.  He  associated  it  with  his  most  child- 
ish recollections  of  railway  travelling.  Would  the 
wires  ever  succeed  in  sinking  out  of  sight  before  the 
next  pole  jerked  them  high  up  across  the  window 
again?  That  was  the  speculation  that  fascinated 
him  even  at  this  moment  as  he  watched  them  across 
the  brim  of  his  companion's  brightly  trimmed  hat. 
There  was  something  human  in  the  attempts  the  things 
made  to  sink  down,  down,  down  and  escape  their  al- 
lotted burden  and  there  was  certainly  something  very 
like  the  ways  of  Providence  in  the  manner  in  which 
they  were  pulled  up  with  a  remorseless  jolt  to  perform 
their  duties  once  more. 

Emerging  with  their  fellow-passengers  upon  the 
Mundhara  platform  both  Sorio  and  Nance  experienced 
a  sense  of  happiness  and  relief.  They  had  both  been 
so  long  confined  to  the  immediate  surroundings  of  Rod- 
moor  that  this  little  excursion  to  the  larger  town  as- 
sumed the  proportions  of  a  release  from  imprisonment. 
It  is  true  that  it  was  a  release  that  Adrian  might  easily 
have  procured  for  himself  on  any  day;  but  more  and 
more  recently,  in  the  abnormal  tension  of  his  nerves, 
he  had  lost  initiative  in  these  things.  They  wandered 
leisurely  together  into  the  town  and  Sorio  amused  him- 
self by  watching  the  demure  and  practical  way  in  which 
his  companion  managed  her  various  economic  trans- 
actions in  the  shops  which  she  entered.     He  could  not 


RAVELSTOX  GRANGE  295 

help  feeling  a  sense  of  envy  as  he  observed  the  manner 
in  which,  without  effort  or  strain,  she  achieved  the  pre- 
cise objects  she  had  in  mind  and  arranged  for  the  trans- 
portation of  her  purchases  by  the  carrier's  cart  that 
same  evening. 

He  wondered  vaguely  whether  all  women  were  like  this 
and  whether,  with  their  dearest  and  best-loved  dead  at 
home,  or  their  own  peace  of  mind  permanently  shat- 
tered by  some  passage  of  fatal  emotion  only  some  few 
hours  before,  they  could  always  throw  everything  aside 
and  bargain  so  keenly  and  shrewdly  with  the  alert 
tradesmen.  He  supposed  it  was  the  working  of  some 
blind  atavistic  power  in  them,  the  mechanical  result 
of  ages  of  mental  concentration.  He  was  amused,  too, 
to  observe  how,  when  in  a  time  incredibly  short  she  had 
done  all  she  wanted,  instead  of  rushing  off  blindly  for 
the  walk  they  had  promised  themselves  past  the  old 
Abbey  church  and  along  the  river's  bank,  she  shrewdly 
interpreted  their  physical  necessities  and  carried  him 
off  to  a  little  dairy  shop  to  have  tea  and  hnlf-penny 
buns.  Had  he  been  the  cicerone  of  their  day's  outing 
he  would  have  plunged  off  straight  for  the  Abbey 
church  and  the  river  fields,  leaving  their  shopping  to 
the  end  and  dooming  them  to  bad  temper  and  irritable 
nerves  from  sheer  bodily  exhaustion.  Never  had  Nance 
looked  more  desirable  or  attractive  as,  with  heightened 
colour  and  little  girlish  jests,  she  poured  out  his  tea 
for  him  in  the  small  shop-parlour  and  swallowed  half- 
penny buns  with  the  avidit}'  of  a  child. 

Baltazar  Stork  was  not  wrong  in  his  conjecture. 
Not  since  their  early  encounters  in  the  streets  and 
parks  of  South  London  had  Sorio  been  in  a  gentler 
mood  or  one  more  amenable  to  the  girl's  charm.     As 


296  RODMOOR 


he  looked  at  her  now  and  listened  to  her  happy  laugh- 
ter, he  felt  that  he  had  been  a  fool  as  well  as  a  scoun- 
drel in  his  treatment  of  her.  Why  hadn't  he  cut  loose 
long  since  from  his  philandering  with  Philippa  which 
led  nowhere  and  could  lead  nowhere?  Why  hadn't  he 
cast  about  for  some  definite  employment  and  risked, 
without  further  delay,  persuading  her  to  marry  him? 
With  her  to  look  after  him  and  smooth  his  path  for 
him,  he  might  have  been  quite  free  from  this  throbbing 
pain  behind  his  eyeballs  and  this  nervous  tension  of 
his  brain.  He  hurriedly  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
would  ask  her  to  marry  him  —  not  to-day,  perhaps,  or 
to-morrow  —  for  it  would  be  absurd  to  commit  himself 
till  he  could  support  her,  but  very  soon,  as  soon  as  he 
had  found  any  mortal  kind  of  an  occupation !  What 
that  occupation  would  be  he  did  not  know.  It  was 
difficult  to  think  of  such  things  all  in  a  moment.  It 
required  time.  Besides,  whatever  it  was  it  must  be 
something  that  left  him  free  scope  for  his  book.  After 
all,  his  book  came  first  —  his  book  and  Baptiste. 
What  would  Baptiste  think  if  he  were  to  marry  again? 
Would  he  be  indignant  and  hurt?  No!  No!  It  was 
inconceivable  that  Baptiste  should  be  hurt.  Besides,  he 
would  love  Nance  when  he  knew  her!  Of  that  he  was 
quite  sure.  Yes,  Baptiste  and  Nance  were  made  to  un- 
derstand one  another.  It  would  be  different  were  it 
Philippa  he  was  thinking  of  marrying.  Somehow  it  dis- 
tressed and  troubled  him  to  imagine  Baptiste  and  Phi- 
lippa together.  That,  at  all  costs,  must  never  come 
about.  His  boy  must  never  meet  Philippa.  All  of 
this  whirled  at  immense  speed  through  Sorio's  head  as 
he  smiled  back  at  Nance  across  the  little  marble  table 
and  stared  at   the  large  blue-china  cow  which,  with 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  297 

udders  coloured  a  yet  deeper  ultramarine  than  its 
striped  back,  placidly,  like  an  animal  sacred  to  Jupiter, 
contemplated  the  universe.  There  must  have  been  a 
wave  of  telepathic  sympathy  between  them  at  that  mo- 
ment, for  Nance  suddenly  swallowing  the  last  of  her 
bun,  hazarded  a  question  she  had  never  dared  to  ask 
before. 

"  Adrian,  dear,  tell  me  this.  Why  did  you  leave 
your  boy  behind  you  in  America  when  you  came  to 
England.?" 

Sorio  was  himself  surprised  at  the  unruffled  manner 
in  which  he  received  this  question.  At  any  other  mo- 
ment it  would  have  fatally  disturbed  him.  He  smiled 
back  at  her,  quite  easily  and  naturally. 

"How  could  I  bring  him?"  he  said.  "He's  got  a 
good  place  in  New  York  and  I  have  nothing.  I  had 
to  get  away,  somewhere.  In  fact,  they  sent  me  away, 
'  deported  '  me,  as  they  call  it.  But  I  couldn't  drag 
the  boy  with  me.  How  could  I?  Though  he  was  ready 
enough  to  come.  Oh,  no !  It's  much  better  as  it  is  — 
much,  much  better  !  " 

He  became  grave  and  silent  and  began  fumbling  in 
one  of  his  inner  pockets.  Nance  watched  him  breath- 
lessly. Was  he  really  softening  towards  her.?  Was 
Philippa  losing  her  hold  on  him.?  He  suddenly  pro- 
duced a  letter  —  a  letter  written  on  thin  paper  and 
bearing  an  American  stamp  —  and  taking  it  with  care- 
ful hands  from  its  envelope,  stretched  it  across  the 
table  towards  her.  The  action  was  suggestive  of  such 
intimacy,  suggestive  of  such  a  new  and  happy  change 
in  their  relations,  that  the  girl  looked  at  the  thing  with 
moist  and  dazed  eyes.  She  obtained  a  general  sense  of 
the  firm  clear  handwriting.     She  caught  the  opening 


298  RODMOOR 


sentence,  written  in  caressing  Italian  and,  for  some  rea- 
son or  other,  the  address  —  perhaps  because  of  its 
strangeness  to  a  European  eye  —  fifteen  West  Eleventh 
Street  —  remained  engraved  in  her  memory.  More 
than  this  she  was  unable  to  take  in  for  the  moment  out 
of  the  sheer  rush  of  bewildering  happiness  which  swept 
over  her  and  made  her  long  to  cry. 

A  moment  later  two  other  Rodmoor  people,  known  to 
them  both  by  sight,  entered  the  shop,  and  Sorio  hur- 
riedly took  the  letter  back  and  replaced  it  in  his  pocket. 
He  paid  their  bill,  which  came  to  exactly  a  shilling, 
and  together  they  walked  out  from  the  dairy.  The 
ultramarine  cow  contemplated  the  universe  as  the  new- 
comers took  their  vacated  table  with  precisely  the  same 
placidity.  Its  own  end  —  some  fifty  years  after,  amid 
the  debris  of  a  local  fire,  with  the  consequent  departure 
of  its  shattered  pieces  to  the  Mundham  dumping  ground 
—  did  not  enter  into  its  contemplation.  Many  lovers, 
happier  and  less  happy  than  Sorio  and  Nance,  would 
sit  at  that  marble  table  during  that  epoch  and  the 
blue  cow  would  listen  in  silence.  Perhaps  in  its  ulti- 
mate resting-place  its  scorched  fragments  would  be- 
come more  voluble  as  the  rains  dripped  upon  the  tins 
and  shards  around  them  or  perhaps,  even  in  ruins  — 
like  an  animal  sacred  to  Jupiter  —  it  would  hold  its 
peace  and  let  the  rains  fall. 

The  two  friends,  still  in  a  mood  of  delicate  and 
delicious  harmony,  threaded  the  quieter  streets  of  the 
town  and  emerged  into  the  dreamy  cathedral-like  square, 
spacious  with  lawns  and  trees,  that  surrounded  the 
abbey-church.  A  broad  gravel-path,  overtopped  by 
wide-spreading  lime  trees,  separated  the  grey  south 
wall  of  the  ancient  edifice  from  the  most  secluded  of 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  299 

these  lawns.  The  grass  was  divided  from  tlie  path  by 
a  low  hanging  cliain-rail  of  that  easy  and  friendly  kind 
that  seems  to  call  upon  the  casual  loiterer  to  step  over 
its  unreluctant  barrier  and  take  his  pleasure  under  the 
welcoming  trees.  They  sat  down  on  an  empty  bench 
and  looked  up  at  the  flying  buttresses  and  weather- 
stained  gargoyles  and  richly  traceried  windows.  The 
sun  fell  in  long  mellow  streams  across  the  gravel  be- 
side them,  broken  into  cool  deep  patches  of  velvet 
shadow  where  the  branches  of  the  lime  trees  intercepted 
it.  From  somewhere  behind  them  came  the  sound  of 
murmuring  pigeons  and  from  further  off  still,  from  one 
of  the  high-walled,  old-fashioned  gardens  of  the  houses 
on  the  remote  side  of  the  square,  came  the  voices  of 
children  playing.  Sorio  sat  with  one  arm  stretched 
out  along  the  top  of  the  bench  behind  Nance's  head  and 
with  the  other  resting  upon  the  handle  of  his  stick. 
His  face  had  a  look  of  deep,  withdrawn  contentment  — 
a  contentment  so  absolute  that  it  merged  into  a  sort 
of  animal  apathy.  Any  one  familiar  with  the  ex- 
pression so  often  seen  upon  the  faces  both  of  street- 
beggars  and  prince-cardinals  in  the  city  on  the  Tiber, 
would  have  recognized  something  indigenous  and  racial 
in  the  lethargy  which  then  possessed  him.  Nance,  on 
the  other  hand,  gave  herself  up  to  a  sweet  and  pas- 
sionate happiness  such  as  she  had  not  known  since  they 
left  London.  While  they  waited  thus  together,  re- 
luctant by  even  a  word  to  break  the  spell  of  that  fa- 
voured hour,  there  came  from  within  the  church  the 
sound  of  an  organ.     Nance  got  up  at  once. 

"Let's  go  in  for  just  a  minute,  Adrian!  Do  you 
mind  —  only  just  a  minute.'  " 

The  slightest  flicker  of  a  frown  crossed  Sorio's  face 


300  RODMOOR 


but   it   vanished  before   she   could  repeat  her   request. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  rising  in  his  turn,  "  of  course ! 
Let's  go  round  and  find  the  door." 

They  had  no  difficulty  in  doing  this.  The  west  en- 
trance of  the  church  was  wide  open  and  they  entered  and 
sat  down  at  the  back  of  the  nave.  Above  them  the 
spacious  vaulted  roof,  rich  with  elaborate  fan-tracery, 
seemed  to  spread  abroad  and  deepen  the  echoes  of  the 
music  as  if  it  were  an  immense  inverted  chalice  spilling 
the  odour  of  immortal  wine.  The  coolness  and  dim 
shadowiness  of  the  place  fell  gently  upon  them  both 
and  the  mysterious  rising  and  sinking  of  the  music, 
with  no  sight  of  any  human  presence  as  its  cause, 
thrilled  Nance  from  head  to  foot  as  she  had  never  been 
thrilled  in  her  life.  Oh,  it  was  worth  it  —  this  mo- 
ment —  all  she  had  suffered  before  —  all  she  could  pos- 
sibly suffer!  If  only  it  might  never  stop,  that  heav- 
enly sound,  but  go  on  and  on  and  on  until  all  the 
world  came  to  know  what  the  power  of  love  was !  She 
felt  at  that  moment  as  if  she  were  on  the  verge  of  at- 
taining some  clue,  some  signal,  some  sign,  which  should 
make  all  things  clear  to  her  —  clear  and  ineffably 
sweet ! 

The  deep  crimsons  and  purples  in  the  coloured  win- 
dows, the  damp  chilly  smell  of  the  centuries-old  ma- 
sonry, the  large  dark  recesses  of  the  shadowy  transepts, 
all  blended  together  to  transport  her  out  of  herself 
into  a  world  kindlier,  calmer,  quieter,  than  the  world 
she  knew. 

"  And  —  he  —  shall  —  feed  — "  rang  out,  as  they 
listened,  the  clear  flutelike  voice  of  some  boy-singer, 
practising  for  the  morrow's  services,  "  shall  —  feed  — 
his  —  flock." 


RAVELSTOX  GRAXGE  301 


The  words   of   the   famous   aiitiphony,  "  staled   and 
rung  upon  "  as  they  might  be,  by  the  pathetic  stam- 
merings  of  so   old   a  human   repetition,   were,   coming 
just  at  this  particular  moment,  more  than  Nance  could 
bear.     She  flung  herself  on  her  knees  and,  pressing  her 
hands  to  her  face,  burst  into  convulsive  sobs.     Sorio 
stood  up  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.     With  the 
other     hand  —  mindful     of     early     associations  —  he 
crossed  himself  two  or  three  times  and  then  remained 
motionless.      Slowlj^,  by  the  action   of  that  law  which 
is  perhaps  the  deepest  in  the  universe,  the  law  of  ebb 
and  flow,    there   began   in   him   a    reaction.     Had    the 
words    the    unseen    boy    singer    was    uttering    been    in 
Latin,  had  they  possessed  that  reserve,  that  passionate 
aloofness  in  emotion,  which  the  instinct  of  worship  in 
the    southern    races    protects    from    sentiment,    such    a 
reaction  might  have  been  spared  him;  but  the  thing 
was  too  facile,  too  easy.     It  might  have  been  the  climax 
of   a   common   melodrama.     It    fell   too   pat   upon   the 
occasion.     And  it  was  insidiously,  treacherously,  hor- 
ribly human.     It  was  too  human.     It  lacked  the  ring 
of  style,  the  reserve  of  the  grand  manner.     It  wailed 
and  sobbed.     It  whimpered  upon  the  Almighty's  shoul- 
der.    It  wanted  the  tragic  abandonment  of  the  "  Dies 
Irae,"  as  it  missed  the  calmer  dignity  of  the  "  Tantum 
ergo."     It  appealed  to  what  was  below  the  level  of  the 
highest  in  religious  pathos.     It  humiliated  while  it  com- 
forted.    The    boy's    voice   died    away    and    the    organ 
stopped.     There  was  a  sound  of  shuffling  in  the  choir 
and  the  mutter  of  voices  and  even  a  suppressed  laugh. 
Sorio  removed  his  hand  from  Nance's  shoulder  and 
stooping  down  picked  up  his  hat  and  stick.      He  looked 
round  him.     A   fashionably  dressed  lady,   carrying  a 


302  RODMOOR 


bunch  of  carnations,  moved  past  them  up  the  aisle  and 
presently  two  younger  women  followed.  Then  a  neatly 
attired  dapper  young  clergyman  strolled  in,  adjust- 
ing his  eye-giasses.  It  was  evidently  approaching  the 
hour  of  the  afternoon  service.     The  spell  was  broken. 

But  the  kneeling  girl  knew  nothing,  felt  nothing,  of 
all  this.  She,  at  all  events,  was  in  the  church  of  her 
fathers  —  the  church  that  her  most  childish  memories 
rendered  sacred.  Had  she  been  able  to  understand 
Sorio's  feeling,  she  would  have  swept  it  aside.  The 
music  was  beautiful,  she  would  have  said,  and  the  words 
were  true.  From  the  heart  of  the  universe  they  came 
straight  to  her  heart.  Were  they  rendered  unbeauti- 
ful  and  untrue  because  so  many  simple  souls  had  found 
comfort  in  them? 

"  Ah !  Adrian,"  she  would  have  said  had  she  argued 
it  out  with  him.  "  Ah,  Adrian,  it  is  common.  It  is 
the  common  cry  of  humanity,  set  to  the  music  of  the 
common  heart  of  the  world,  and  is  not  that  more  essen- 
tial than  *  Latin,'  more  important  than  '  style  '?  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  only  controversy  that  arose 
between  them  when  they  left  the  building  was  brief  and 
final. 

"  I  fancy,"  remarked  Sorio,  "  from  what  you  tell  me 
of  her,  that  that's  the  sort  of  thing  that  would  please 
Mrs.  Renshaw  —  I  mean  the  music  we  heard  just  now  !  " 

Nance  flushed  as  she  answered  him.  "  Yes,  it  would ! 
It  would !  And  it  pleases  me  too.  It  makes  me  more 
certain  than  ever  that  Jesus  Christ  was  really  God." 
Sorio  bowed  his  head  at  this  and  held  his  peace  and 
together  they  made  their  way  to  the  bank  of  the  Loon. 

What  they  were  particularly  anxious  to  see  was  an 
old  house  by  the  river-side  about  a  mile  east  of  the 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  303 


town  which  had  been,  some  hundred  years  before,  the 
abode  of  one  of  the  famous  East  Anglian  painters  of 
the  celebrated  Norwich  school  —  a  painter  whose  hu- 
morous aplomb  and  rich  earth-steeped  colouring  ri- 
valled some  of  the  most  notable  of  the  artists  of  Amster- 
dam and  The  Hague. 

Their  train  back  to  Rodmoor  did  not  leave  till  half- 
past  seven  and  as  it  was  now  hardly  five  they  had  ample 
time  to  make  this  little  pilgrimage  as  deliberately  as 
they  pleased.  They  had  no  difficulty  in  reaching  the 
river,  and  once  at  its  edge,  it  was  only  a  question  of 
following  its  windings  till  they  arrived  at  Ravelston 
Grange.  Their  way  was  somewhat  impeded  at  first  by 
a  line  of  warehouses,  between  which  and  a  long  row  of 
barges  fastened  to  a  series  of  littered  dusty  wharves, 
lay  all  manner  of  bales  and  casks  and  bundles  of  hay 
and  vegetable.  There  were  coal-yards  there  too,  and 
timber-yards,  and  in  other  places  great  piles  of  beer- 
barrels,  all  bearing  the  name  "  Keith  Radipole  "  which 
had  been  for  half  a  century  the  business  title  of  Brand 
Renshaw's  brewery.  These  obstacles  surmounted,  there 
were  no  further  interruptions  to  their  advance  along  the 
river  path; 

The  aspect  of  the  day,  however,  had  grown  less  prom- 
ising. A  somewhat  threatening  bank  of  clouds  with 
dark  jagged  edges,  which  the  efforts  of  the  sun  to 
scatter  only  rendered  more  lurid,  had  appeared  in  the 
west  and  when,  for  a  moment,  they  turned  to  look  back 
at  the  town,  they  saw  its  chimneys  and  houses  massed 
gloomily  together  against  a  huge  sombre  bastion  whose 
topmost  fringe  was  illuminated  by  fiery  indentations. 
Nance  expressed  some  hesitation  as  to  the  wisdom  of  go- 
ing further  with  this  phalanx  of  storm  threatenings  fol- 


304  RODMOOR 


lowing  them  from  behind,  but  Sorio  laughed  at  her  fears 
and  assured  her  that  in  a  very  short  time  they  would 
arrive  at  the  great  painter's  house. 

It  appeared,  however,  that  the  "  mile  "  referred  to 
in  the  little  local  history  in  which  they  had  read  about 
this  place  did  not  begin  till  the  limits  of  Mundham  were 
reached  and  Mundham  seemed  to  extend  itself  interm- 
inably. They  were  passing  through  peculiarly  dreary 
outskirts  now.  Little  half-finished  rows  of  wretchedly 
built  houses  trailed  disconsolately  towards  the  river's 
edge  and  mingled  with  small  deserted  factories  whose 
walls,  blackened  with  smoke,  were  now  slowly  crumbling 
to  pieces.  Desolate  patches  of  half-cultivated  ground 
where  the  stalks  of  potatoes,  yellowing  with  damp,  alter- 
nated with  thickly  growing  weeds,  gave  the  place  that 
peculiar  expression  of  sordid  melancholy  which  seems 
the  especial  prerogative  of  such  fringes  of  human  habi- 
tation. Old  decaying  barges,  some  of  them  half- 
drowned  in  water  and  others  with  gaunt,  protruding 
ribs  and  rotting  planks,  lay  staring  at  the  sky  while 
the  river,  swirling  past  them,  gurgled  and  muttered 
round  their  submerged  keels.  It  was  impossible  for  the 
two  friends  to  retain  long,  under  these  depressing  sur- 
roundings, their  former  mood  of  magical  harmony. 
Little  shreds  and  fragments  of  their  happiness  seemed 
to  fall  from  them  at  every  step  and  remain,  bleakly 
flapping  among  the  mouldering  walls  and  weedy  river- 
piles,  like  the  bits  of  old  paper  and  torn  rag  which 
fluttered  feebly  or  fell  into  immobility  as  the  wind  rose 
or  sank.  The  bank  of  clouds  behind  them  had  now 
completely  obscured  every  vestige  of  the  sun  and  a  sort 
of  premature  twilight  lay  upon  the  surface  of  the  river 
and  on  the  fields  on  its  further  side. 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  305 

"  What's  that?  "  asked  Nance  suddenly,  putting  her 
hand  on  his  arm  and  pointing  to  a  large  square  build- 
ing which  suddenly  appeared  on  their  left.  They  had 
been  vaguely  aware  of  this  building  for  some  while  but 
one  little  thing  or  another  in  their  more  immediate 
neighbourhood  had  confined  it  to  the  remoter  verge 
of  their  consciousness.  As  soon  as  she  had  asked  the 
question  Nance  felt  an  unaccountable  unwillingness  to 
carry  the  investigation  further.  Sorio,  too,  seemed 
ready  enough  to  let  her  enquiry  remain  unanswered. 
He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  much  as  to  say  "  how  can 
I  tell?"  and  suggested  that  they  should  rest  for  a  mo- 
ment on  a  littered  pile  of  wood  which  lay  close  to  the 
water's  edge. 

They  stepped  down  the  bank  where  they  were,  out 
of  sight  of  the  building  above,  and  seated  themselves. 
With  their  arms  around  their  knees  they  contemplated 
the  flowing  tide  and  the  dull-coloured  mud  of  the  oppo- 
site bank.  A  coil  of  decaying  rope,  tossed  aside  from 
some  passing  barge,  lay  at  Sorio's  feet  and,  as  he  sat 
in  gloomy  silence,  he  thought  how  like  the  thing  was 
to  something  he  had  once  seen  at  an  inquest  in  a  house 
in  New  York.  As  for  Nance,  she  found  it  difficult 
to  remove  her  eyes  from  a  shapeless  bundle  of  sacking 
which  the  tide  was  carrying.  Sometimes  it  would  get 
completely  submerged  and  then  again  it  would  reap- 
pear. 

"  Why  is  it,"  she  thought,  "  that  there  is  always 
something  horrible  about  tidal  rivers?  Is  it  because 
of  the  way  they  have  of  carrying  things  backward  and 
forward,  backward  and  forward,  without  ever  allowing 
them  either  to  get  far  inland  or  clear  out  to  sea?  Is 
a  tidal  river,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  the  one  thing  in  all 


306  RODMOOR 


the  world  in  which  nothing  can  be  lost  or  hidden  or 
forgotten?  " 

It  was  curious  how  difficult  they  both  felt  it  just 
then  either  to  move  from  where  they  were  or  to  address 
a  single  word  to  one  another.  They  seemed  hypnotized 
by  something  —  hypnotized  by  some  thought  which  re- 
mained unspoken  at  the  back  of  their  minds.  They 
felt  an  extreme  reluctance  to  envisage  again  that  large 
square  building  surrounded  by  weather-stained  wall,  a 
wall  from  which  the  ivy  had  been  carefully  scraped. 

Slowly,  little  by  little,  the  bank  of  clouds  mounted 
up  to  the  meridian,  casting  over  everything  as  it  did  so 
a  more  and  more  ominous  twilight.  The  silence  be- 
tween them  became  after  a  while,  a  thing  with  a  pal- 
pable presence.  It  seemed  to  float  upon  the  water  to 
their  feet  and,  rising  about  them  like  a  wraith,  like  a 
mist,  like  the  ghost  of  a  dead  child,  it  fumbled  with 
clammy  fingers  upon  their  hearts. 

"  I'm  sure,"  Sorio  cried  at  last,  with  an  obvious 
struggle  to  break  the  mysterious  sorcery  which  weighed 
on  them,  "  I'm  perfectly  sure  that  Ravelston  Grange 
must  be  round  that  second  bend  of  the  river  —  do  you 
see?  —  where  those  trees  are!  I'm  sure  it  must!  At 
any  rate  we  must  come  to  it  at  last  if  we  only  go  on." 

He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Heavens !  We've  taken  an  hour  already  getting 
here !  It's  nearly  six.  How  on  earth  have  we  been 
so  long?  " 

"  Do  you  know,  Adrian,"  Nance  remarked  —  and  she 
couldn't  help  noticing  as  she  did  so  that  though  he 
spoke  so  resolutely  of  going  forward  he  made  not  the 
least  movement  to  leave  his  seat  — "  do  you  know  I  feel 
as  if  we  were  in  a  dream.     I  have  the  oddest  feeling 


RAVELSTON  GRANGE  307 

that  any  moment  we  might  wake  up  and  find  ourselves 
back  in  Rodmoor.  Adrian,  dear,  let's  go  back !  Let's 
go  back  to  the  town.  Tiiere's  something  that  depresses 
me  beyond  words  about  all  this." 

"  Nonsense ! "  cried  Sorio  in  a  loud  and  angry  voice, 
leaping  to  his  feet  and  snatching  up  his  stick.  "  Come 
on,  my  girl,  come,  child !  We'll  see  that  Ravelston 
place  before  the  rain  gets  to  us !  " 

They  clambered  up  the  bank  and  walked  swiftly  for- 
ward. Nance  noticed  that  Sorio  looked  steadily  at 
the  river,  looked  at  the  river  without  intermission  and 
with  hardly  a  word,  till  they  were  well  beyond  the  very 
last  houses  of  Mundham.  It  was  an  unspeakable  re- 
lief to  her  when,  at  last,  crossing  a  little  footbridge 
over  a  weir,  they  found  themselves  surrounded  by  the 
open  fens. 

"  Behind  those  trees,  Nance,"  Sorio  kept  repeating, 
"  behind  those  trees !  I'm  absolutely  sure  I'm  right 
and  that  Ravelston  Grange  is  there.  By  the  way,  girl, 
which  of  your  poets  wrote  the  verses  — 

'  She  makes  her  immemorial  moan, 

She  keeps  her  shadowy  kine, 
O,  Keith  of  Uaveiston, 

The  sorrows  of  thy  line ! ' 

They've  been  running  in  my  head  all  the  afternoon 
ever  since  I  saw  '  Keith  Radipole,'  on  those  beer- 
barrels." 

Nance,  however,  was  too  eager  to  reach  the  real 
Ravelston  to  pay  much  heed  to  his  poetic  allusion. 

"  Oh,  it  sounds  like  —  oh,  I  don't  know  —  Tenny- 
son, perhaps ! "  and  she  pulled  him  forward  towards  the 
trees. 


308  RODMOOR 


These  proved  to  be  a  group  of  tall  PVench  poplars 
which,  just  then,  were  muttering  volubly  in  the  rain- 
smelling  wind.  They  hurried  past  them  and  paused 
before  a  gate  in  a  very  high  wall. 

"What's  this.?"  exclaimed  Sorio.  "This  can't  be 
Ravelston.     It  looks  more  like  a  prison." 

For  a  moment  his  eyes  encountered  Nance's  and  the 
girl  glanced  quickly  away  from  what  she  read  in  his 
face.  She  called  out  to  an  old  man  who  was  hoeing 
potatoes  behind  some  iron  railings  where  the  wall 
ended. 

"Could  you  tell  me  where  Ravelston  Grange  is.?" 
she  enquired. 

The  old  man  removed  his  hat  and  regarded  her  with 
a  whimsical  smile. 

"  'Tis  across  the  river,  lady,  and  there  isn't  no 
bridge  for  some  many  miles.  Maybe  with  any  luck 
ye  may  meet  a  cattle-boat  to  take  ye  over  but  there's 
little  surety  about  them  things." 

"What's  this  place,  then.'*"  asked  Sorio  abruptly, 
approaching  the  iron  railings. 

"This,  mister.''  Why  this  be  the  doctor's  house  of 
the  County  Asylum.  This  be  where  they  keep  the  su- 
perior cases,  as  you  might  say,  them  what  pays  summat, 
ye  understand,  and  be  only  what  you  might  call  half 
daft.  You  must  a'  seed  the  County  Asylum  as  you 
came  along.  'Tis  a  wonderful  large  place,  one  of  the 
grandest,  so  they  say,  on  this  side  of  the  kingdom." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Sorio  curtly.  "  That's  just 
what  we  wanted  to  know.  Yes,  we  saw  the  house  you 
speak  of.  It  certainly  looks  big  enough.  Have  there 
been  many  new  cases  lately?  Is  this  what  you  might 
call  a  good  year  for  mental  collapses.''  " 


RAVP:T.STOy  GRANGE  309 

As  he  spoke  he  peered  curiously  between  the  iron 
bars  as  if  anxious  to  get  some  sight  of  the  "  half  daft," 
who  could  afford  to  pay  for  their  keep. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  *  a  good  year,' 
mister,"  answered  the  man,  watching  him  with  little 
twinkhng  eyes,  "  but  I  reckon  folk  have  been  as  liable 
to  go  shaky  this  year  as  most  other  years.  'Tisn't  in 
the  season,  I  take  it,  'tis  in  the  man  or  for  the  matter 
of  that,"  and  he  cast  an  apologetic  leer  in  Nance's  di- 
rection, "  in  the  woman." 

"  Come  on,  Adrian,"  interposed  his  companion,  "  you 
see  that  guide-book  told  us  all  Avrong.  We'd  better 
get  back  to  the  station." 

But  Sorio  held  tightly  to  the  railings  with  both  his 
hands. 

"  Don't  tease  me,  Nance,"  he  said  irritably.  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  this  excellent  man." 

"  You'd  better  do  what  your  missus  says,  mis- 
ter," observed  the  gardener,  returning  to  his  work. 
"  The  authorities  don't  like  no  loitering  in  these 
places." 

But  Sorio  disregarded  the  hint. 

"  I  should  think,"  he  remarked,  "  it  wouldn't  be  so 
very  difficult  to  escape  out  of  here."  He  received  no 
reply  to  this  and  Nance  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"  Please,  Adrian,  please  come  away,"  she  pleaded, 
with  tears  in  her  voice.  The  old  man  lifted  up  his 
head. 

"  You  go  back  where  you  be  come  from,"  he  ob- 
served, "  and  thank  the  good  Lord  you've  got  such  a 
pretty  lady  to  look  after  you.  There  be  many  what 
envies  you  and  many  what  'ud  like  to  stand  in  your 
shoes,  and  that's  God's  truth." 


310  RODMOOR 


Sorio  sighed  heavily,  and  letting  go  his  hold  upon 
the  railings,  turned  to  his  companion. 

"  Let's  find  another  way  to  the  town,"  he  said. 
"  There  must  be  some  road  over  there,  or  at  worst,  we 
can  walk  along  the  line." 

They  moved  off  hastily  in  the  direction  opposite 
from  the  river  and  the  old  man,  after  making  an  enig- 
matic gesture  behind  their  backs,  spat  upon  his  hands 
and  returned  to  his  work.  The  sky  was  now  entirely 
overclouded  but  still  no  rain  fell. 


XXI 

THE  WINDMILL 

WITH  the  coming  of  September  there  was  a  no- 
ticeable change  in  the  weather.  The  air  got 
perceptibly  colder,  the  sea  rougher  and 
there  were  dark  days  when  the  sun  was  hardly  seen  at 
all.  Sometimes  the  prevailing  west  wind  brought 
showers,  but  so  far,  in  spite  of  the  cooler  atmosphere, 
there  was  little  heavy  rain.  The  rain  seemed  to  be 
gathering  and  massing  on  every  horizon,  but  though 
its  presence  was  felt,  its  actual  coming  was  delayed  and 
the  fields  and  gardens  remained  scorched  and  dry. 
The  ditches  in  the  fens  were  low  that  season  —  lower 
than  they  had  been  for  many  years.  Some  of  them 
were  actually  empty  and  in  others  there  was  so  little  wa- 
ter that  the  children  could  catch  eels  and  minnows  with 
their  naked  hands.  In  many  portions  of  the  salt 
marshes  it  was  possible  to  walk  dry-shod  where,  in  the 
early  Spring,  one  would  have  sunk  up  to  the  waist,  or 
even  up  to  the  neck. 

Driven  by  the  hot  weather  from  their  usual  feeding- 
grounds  several  rare  and  curious  birds  visited  the  fens 
that  year.  The  immediate  environs  of  Rodmoor  were 
especially  safe  for  these,  as  few  among  the  fishermen 
carried  guns  and  none  of  the  wealthier  inhabitants  cared 
greatly  for  shooting.  Brand  Renshaw,  for  instance, 
like  his  father  before  him,  refused  to  preserve  any  sort 

of  game  and  indeed  it  was  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  his 

311 


312  RODMOOR 


unpopularity  with  the  neighbouring  gentry  that  he 
was  so  little  of  a  sportsman. 

One  species  of  visitor  brought  by  that  unusually  hot 
August  was  less  fortunate  than  the  birds.  This  was  a 
swallow-tail  butterfly,  one  of  the  rarer  of  the  two  kinds 
known  to  collectors  in  that  part  of  the  country.  Dr. 
Raughty  was  like  a  man  out  of  his  senses  with  delight 
when  he  perceived  this  beautiful  wanderer.  He  bribed 
a  small  boy  who  was  with  him  at  the  moment  to  follow 
it  wherever  it  flew  while  he  hurried  back  to  his  rooms 
for  his  net.  Unluckily  for  the  swift-flying  nomad,  in- 
stead of  making  for  the  open  fens  it  persisted  in  hov- 
ering about  the  sand-dunes  where  grew  a  certain  little 
glaucous  plant  and  it  was  upon  the  sand  dunes,  finally, 
that  the  Doctor  secured  it,  after  a  breathless  and  ex- 
hausting chase. 

It  seemed  to  cause  FIngal  Raughty  real  distress  when 
he  found  that  neither  Nance  nor  Linda  was  pleased  at 
what  he  had  done.  He  met,  indeed,  with  scanty  con- 
gratulations from  any  of  his  friends.  With  Sorio  he 
almost  quarreled  over  the  incident,  so  vituperative  did 
the  Italian  become  when  reference  was  made  to  it  in 
his  presence.  Mrs.  Renshaw  was  gently  sympathetic, 
evidently  regarding  it  as  one  of  the  privileges  of  mascu- 
line vigour  to  catch  and  kill  whatever  was  beautiful  and 
endowed  with  wings,  but  even  she  spoilt  the  savour  of 
her  congratulations  with  a  faint  tinge  of  irony. 

Two  weeks  of  September  had  already  passed  when 
Sorio,  in  obedience  to  a  little  pencilled  note  he  had  re- 
ceived the  night  before,  set  off  in  the  early  afternoon 
to  meet  Philippa  at  one  of  their  more  recently  dis- 
covered haunts.  In  spite  of  his  resolution  in  the  little 
dairy  shop  in  Mundham  he  had  made  no  drastic  change 


THE  WIXD:MTI.L 313 

in  liis  life,  either  in  the  direction  of  finding  woriv.  to  do 
or  of  breaking  ofF  his  relations  with  the  girl  from  Oak- 
guard.  That  excursion  with  Nance  in  which  they  tried 
so  ineffectively  to  f\nu  the  great  painter's  house  left, 
in  its  final  impression,  a  certain  cruel  embarrassment 
between  them.  It  became  difficult  for  him  not  to  feel 
that  she  was  watching  him  apprehensively  now  and  with 
a  ghastly  anxiety  at  the  back  of  her  mind  and  this 
consciousness  poisoned  his  ease  and  freedom  with  her. 
He  felt  that  her  tenderness  was  no  longer  a  natural, 
unqualified  affection  but  a  sort  of  terrified  pity,  and 
this  impression  set  his  nerves  all  the  more  on  edge  when 
they  were  together. 

With  Philippa,  on  the  other  hand,  he  felt  absolutely 
free.  The  girl  lived  herself  so  abnormal  and  isolated  a 
life,  for  Mrs.  Renshaw  disliked  visitors  and  Brand  dis- 
couraged any  association  with  their  neighbours,  that 
she  displayed  nothing  of  that  practical  and  human 
sense  of  proportion  which  was  the  basis  of  Nance's 
character.  For  the  very  reason,  perhaps,  that  she 
cared  less  what  happened  to  him,  she  was  able  to  hu- 
mour him  more  completely.  She  piqued  and  stimu- 
lated his  intelligence  too,  in  a  way  Nance  never  did. 
She  had  flashes  of  diabolical  insight  which  could  always 
rouse  and  astonish  him.  Something  radically  cold  and 
aloof  in  her  made  it  possible  for  her  to  risk  alienating 
him  by  savage  and  malicious  blows  at  his  pride.  But 
the  more  poisonous  her  taunts  became,  the  more  closely 
he  clung  to  her,  deriving,  it  might  almost  seem,  an 
actual  pleasure  from  what  he  suffered  at  her  hands. 
Anxious  for  both  their  sakes  to  avoid  as  much  as  pos- 
sible the  gossip  of  the  village,  he  had  continued  his 
habit  of  meeting  her  in  all  manner  of  out-of-the-way 


314  RODMOOR 


places,  and  the  spot  she  had  designated  as  their  ren- 
dezvous for  this  particular  afternoon  was  one  of  the 
remotest  and  least  accessible  of  all  these  sanctuaries 
of  refuge.  It  was,  in  fact,  an  old  disused  windmill, 
standing  by  itself  in  the  fens  about  two  miles  north  of 
that  willow  copse  where  he  had  on  one  fatal  occasion 
caused  Nance  Herrick  such  distress. 

Philippa  was  an  abnormally  good  walker.  From  a 
child  she  had  been  accustomed  to  roam  long  distances 
by  herself,  so  that  it  did  not  strike  him  as  anything 
unusual  that  she  should  have  chosen  a  place  so  far  off 
from  Oakguard  as  the  scene  of  their  encounter. 
One  of  her  most  marked  peculiarities  was  a  certain  im- 
aginative fastidiousness  in  regard  to  the  milieu  of 
her  interviews  with  him.  That  was,  indeed,  one  of  the 
ways  by  which  she  held  him.  It  amounted  to  a  genius 
for  the  elimination  of  the  commonplace  or  the  "  fa- 
miliar "  in  the  relations  between  them.  She  kept  a 
clear  space,  as  it  were,  around  her  personality,  only 
approaching  him  when  the  dramatic  accessories  were 
harmonious,  and  vanishing  again  before  he  had  time  to 
sound  the  bottom  of  her  evasive  mood. 

On  this  occasion  Sorio  walked  with  a  firm  and  even 
gay  bearing  towards  their  rendezvous.  He  followed 
at  first  the  same  path  as  that  taken  by  Nance  and  her 
sister  on  the  eve  of  their  eventful  bank-holiday  but  when 
he  reached  Nance's  withy-bed  he  debouched  to  his  left 
and  plunged  straight  across  the  fens.  The  track  he 
now  followed  was  one  used  rarely,  even  by  the  owners 
of  cattle  upon  the  marshes  and  in  front  of  him,  as  far 
as  his  eye  could  reach,  nothing  except  isolated  poplars 
and  a  few  solitary  gates,  marking  the  bridges  across 
the  dykes,  broke  the  grey  expanse  of  the  horizon.     The 


THE  WINDMILL 315 

deserted  windmill  towards  which  he  made  his  way  was 
larger  than  any  of  the  others  but  while,  in  the  gently- 
blowing  wind  the  sails  of  the  rest  kept  their  slow  and 
rhythmic  revolution,  this  particular  one  stretched  out 
its  enormous  arms  in  motionless  repose  as  if  issuing 
some  solemn  command  to  the  elements  or,  like  the  bib- 
lical leader,  threatening  the  overthrow  of  a  hostile 
army. 

As  he  waked,  Sorio  noticed  that  at  last  the  Michael- 
mas daisies  were  really  in  bloom,  their  grey  leaves  and 
sad  autumnal  flowers  blending  congruously  enough  with 
the  dark  water  and  blackened  reed-stems  of  the  stag- 
nant ditches.  The  sky  above  him  was  covered  with  a 
thin  veil  of  leaden-coloured  clouds,  against  which,  fly- 
ing so  high  as  to  make  it  difficult  to  distinguish  their 
identity,  an  attenuated  line  of  large  birds  —  Sorio  won- 
dered if  they  were  wild  swans  —  moved  swiftly  towards 
the  west.  He  arrived  at  last  at  the  windmill  and  en- 
tered its  cavernous  interior.  She  rose  to  meet  him, 
shaking  the  dust  from  her  clothes.  In  the  semi-dark- 
ness of  the  place,  her  eyes  gleamed  with  a  dangerous 
lustre  like  the  eyes  of  an  animal. 

*'  Do  you  want  to  stay  where  we  are?  "  he  said  when 
he  had  relinquished  the  hand  she  gave  him,  after  lifting 
it  in  an  exaggerated  foreign  manner,  to  his  lips.  She 
laughed  a  low  mocking  laugh. 

"What's  the  alternative,  Adriano  mio?  Even  7 
can't  walk  indefinitely  and  it  isn't  nice  sitting  over  a 
half-empty  dyke." 

"  Well,"  he  remarked,  "  let's  stay  here  then  !  Where 
were  you  sitting  before  I  came?  " 

She  pointed  to  a  heap  of  straw  in  the  furthest  cor- 
ner of  the  place  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  half-ruined 


316  RODMOOR 


flight  of  steps  leading  to  the  floor  above.  Adrian  sur- 
veyed this  spot  without  animation. 

"  It  would  be  much  more  interesting,"  he  said,  "  if 
we  could  get  up  that  ladder.  I  believe  we  could.  I 
tried  it  clumsily  the  other  day  when  I  broke  that  step." 

"  But  how  do  we  know  the  floor  above  will  bear  us  if 
we  do  get  up  there?  " 

"  Oh,  it'll  bear  us  all  right.  Look !  You  can  see. 
The  middle  boards  aren't  rotted  at  all  and  that  hole 
there  is  a  rat-hole.  There  aren't  any  dangerous 
cracks." 

"  It  would  be  so  horrid  to  tumble  through,  Adrian." 

"  Oh,  we  shan't  tumble  through.  I  swear  to  you  it's 
all  right,  Phil.  We're  not  going  to  dance  up  there,  are 
we?  " 

The  girl  put  her  hand  on  the  dilapidated  balustrade 
and  shook  it.  The  whole  ladder  trembled  from  top  to 
bottom  and  a  cloud  of  ancient  flour-dust,  grey  and 
mouldy,  descended  on  their  heads. 

"  You  see,  Adrian  ?  "  she  remarked.  "  It  really  isn't 
safe ! " 

"  I  don't  care,"  he  said  stubbornly.  "  What's  it 
matter?  It's  dull  and  stuff'y  down  here.  I'm  going  to 
try  anyway." 

He  began  cautiously  ascending  what  remained  intact 
of  the  forlorn  ladder.  The  thing  creaked  ominously 
under  his  weight.  He  managed,  however,  to  get  suf- 
ficiently high  to  secure  a  hold  upon  the  threshold-beam 
of  the  floor  above  when,  with  the  aid  of  a  projecting 
plank  from  the  side-wall  of  the  building,  he  managed  to 
retain  his  position  and  after  a  brief  struggle,  disap- 
peared from  his  companion's  view. 


THE  WTXDMIT.L  317 

His  voice  came  down  to  her  from  above,  inuflied  a 
little  by  the  intervening  wood-work. 

*'  It's  lovely  up  here,  Phil !  Tliere  are  two  little  win- 
dows and  you  can  see  all  over  the  fens.  Wait  a  min- 
ute, we'll  soon  have  you  up." 

There  was  a  pause  and  she  heard  him  moving  about 
over  her  head. 

"  You'd  much  better  come  down,"  she  shouted.  "  I'm 
not  going  up  there.     There's  no  possible  way." 

He  made  no  answer  to  this  and  there  was  dead  silence 
for  several  minutes.  She  went  to  the  entrance  and 
emerged  into  the  open  air.  The  wide  horizon  around 
her  seemed  void  and  empty.  Upon  the  surface  of  the 
immense  plain  only  a  few  visible  objects  broke  the  brood- 
ing monotony.  To  the  south  and  east  she  could  dis- 
cern just  one  or  two  familiar  landmarks  but  to  the  west 
there  was  nothing  —  nothing  but  an  eternal  level  of 
desolation  losing  itself  in  the  sky.  She  gave  an  in- 
voluntary shudder  and  moved  away  from  the  wind- 
mill to  the  edge  of  a  reed-bordcred  ditch.  There  was  a 
pool  of  gloomy  water  in  the  middle  of  the  reeds  and 
across  this  pool  and  round  and  round  it  whirled,  at  an 
incredible  speed,  a  score  or  so  of  tiny  water-beetles, 
never  leaving  the  surface  and  never  pausing  for  a  mo- 
ment in  their  mad  dance.  A  wretched  little  moth,  its 
wings  rendered  useless  by  contact  with  the  water,  strug- 
gled feebly  in  the  centre  of  this  pool,  but  the  shiny- 
coated  beetles  whirled  on  round  it  in  their  dizzy  cir- 
cles as  if  it  had  no  more  significance  than  the  shadow 
of  a  leaf.  Philippa  smiled  and  walked  back  to  the 
building. 

*'  Adrian,"  she  called  out,  entering  its  dusty  gloom 


318  RODMOOR 


and  looking  up  at  the  square  hole  in  the  ceiling,  from 
which  still  hung  a  remnant  of  broken  wood-work. 

"Well?  What  is  it?"  her  friend's  voice  answered. 
"  It's  all  right ;  we'll  soon  have  you  up  here ! " 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  up  there,"  she  shouted  back. 
"  I  want  you  to  come  doAvn.  Please  come  down,  Adrian  ! 
You're  spoiling  all  our  afternoon." 

Once  more  there  was  dead  silence.  Then  she  called 
out  again. 

"  Adrian,"  she  said,  "  there's  a  moth  being  drowned 
in  the  ditch  out  here." 

"What?  Where?  What  do  you  say.?"  came  the 
man's  reply,  accompanied  by  several  violent  movements. 
Presently  a  rope  descended  from  the  hole  and  swung 
suspended  in  the  air. 

"  Look  out,  my  dear,"  Sorio's  voice  ejaculated  and  a 
moment  later  he  came  swinging  down,  hand  over  hand, 
and  landed  at  her  side.  "  What's  that  ?  "  he  gasped 
breathlessly,  "  what  did  you  say?  A  moth  in  the  water? 
Show  me,  show  me !  " 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing,  Adrian,"  she  answered  petulantly. 
"  I  only  wanted  you  to  come  down." 

But  he  had  rushed  out  of  the  door  and  down  to  the 
stream's  edge. 

"  I  see  it !  I  see  it !  "  he  called  back  at  her.  "  Here, 
give  me  my  stick ! "  He  came  rushing  back,  pushed 
roughly  past  her,  seized  his  stick  from  the  ground  and 
returned  to  the  ditch.  It  was  easy  enough  to  effect  the 
moth's  rescue.  The  same  fluffy  stickiness  in  the  thing's 
wet  wings  that  made  it  helpless  in  the  water,  made 
it  adhere  to  the  stick's  point.  He  wiped  it  off  upon 
the  grass  and  pulled  Philippa  back  into  the  build- 
ing. 


THE  WIXDMILL 319 

"  I'm  glad  1  came  down,"  he  remarked.  "  I  know 
it'll  hold  now.  You  won't  mind  my  tying  it  round 
you,  will  you.''  I'll  have  both  the  ends  down  here  pres- 
ently. It's  round  a  strong  hook.  It's  all  right.  And 
then  I'll  pull  you  up." 

Philippa  looked  at  him  with  angry  dismay.  All  this 
agitating  fuss  over  so  childish  an  adventure  irritated 
her  beyond  endurance.  His  proposal  had,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  a  most  subtle  and  curious  effect  upon  her. 
It  changed  the  relations  between  them.  It  reduced 
her  to  the  position  of  a  girl  playing  with  an  elder 
brother.  It  outraged,  with  an  element  of  the  comic, 
her  sense  of  dramatic  fastidiousness.  It  humiliated 
her  pride  and  broke  the  twisted  threads  of  all  kinds  of 
delicate  spiritual  nets  she  had  in  her  mind  to  cast  over 
him.  It  placed  her  by  his  side  as  a  weak  and  timid 
woman  by  the  side  of  a  willful  and  strong-limbed  man. 
Her  ascendency  over  him,  as  she  well  knew,  depended 
upon  the  retaining,  on  her  part,  of  a  certain  psychic 
evasiveness  —  a  certain  mysterious  and  tantalizing  re- 
serve. It  depended  —  at  any  rate  that  is  what  she  im- 
agined —  upon  the  inscrutable  look  she  could  throw  into 
her  eyes  and  upon  the  tragic  glamour  of  her  ambiguous 
red  lips  and  white  cheeks.  How  could  she  possibly  re- 
tain all  these  characteristics  when  swinging  to  and  fro 
at  the  end  of  a  rope? 

Sorio's  suggestion  outraged  something  in  her  that 
went  down  to  the  very  root  of  her  personality.  Walk- 
ing with  him,  swimming  with  him,  rowing  in  a  boat  with 
him  —  all  those  things  were  harmonious  to  her  mind 
and  congruous  with  her  personal  charm.  None  of 
these  things  interfered  with  the  play  of  her  intelli- 
gence, with  the  poise,  the  reserve,  the  aloofness  of  her 


320  RODMOOR 


spiritual  challenge.  She  was  exceptionally  devoid  of 
fear  in  these  boyish  sports  and  could  feel  herself  when 
she  engaged  in  them  with  him,  free  of  the  limitations  of 
her  sex.  She  could  retain  completel}'^,  as  she  indulged 
lierself  in  them,  all  the  equilibrium  of  her  being  —  the 
rhythm  of  her  identity.  But  this  proposal  of  Sorio's 
not  only  introduced  a  discordant  element  that  had  a 
shrewd  vein  of  the  ludicrous  in  it,  it  threw  her  into  a 
physical  panic.  It  pulled  and  tugged  at  the  inmost 
fibres  of  her  self-restraint.  It  made  her  long  to  sit 
down  on  the  ground  and  cry  like  a  child.  She  wondered 
vaguely  whether  it  was  that  Adrian  was  revenging  him- 
self upon  her  at  that  moment  for  some  accumulated 
series  of  half-physical  outrages  that  he  had  himself  in 
his  neurotic  state  been  subjected  to  lately.  As  to  his 
actual  sanity,  it  never  occured  to  her  to  question  that. 
She  herself  was  too  wayward  and  whimsical  in  the  re- 
actions of  her  nerves  and  the  processes  of  her  mind  to 
find  anything  startling,  in  that  sense,  in  what  he  was 
now  suggesting.  It  was  simply  that  it  changed  their 
relations  —  it  destroyed  her  ascendency,  it  brought 
things  down  to  brute  force,  it  turned  her  into  a  woman. 
Her  mind,  as  she  stood  hesitating,  reviewed  the  moth 
incident.  That  sort  of  situation  —  Adrian's  fantastic 
mania  for  rescuing  things  —  had  just  the  opposite  ef- 
fect on  her.  He  might  poke  his  stick  into  half  the 
ditches  of  Rodmoor  and  save  innumerable  drowning 
moths ;  the  only  effect  that  had  on  her  was  to  make  her 
feel  superior  to  him,  better  adapted  than  he  to  face  the 
essential  facts  of  life,  its  inherent  and  integral  cruelty 
for  instance.  But  now  —  to  see  that  horrible  rope-end 
dangling  from  that  gaping  hole  and  to  see  the  eager, 
violent,  masculine  look  in  her  friend's  eyes  —  it  was  un- 


THE  WIXDMILL 821 

endurable;  it  drove  her,  so  to  speak,  against  the  jagged 
edge  of  the  world's  brute  wall. 

"  To  dance  to  flutes,  to  dance  to  lutes, 
Is  delicate  and  rare — " 

she  found  herself  quoting,  with  a  horrible  sense  that  the 
humour  of  the  parody  only  sharpened  the  sting  of  her 
dilemma. 

"  I  won't  do  it,"  she  said  resolutely  at  last,  trying 
to  brave  it  out  with  a  smile.  "  It's  a  ridiculous  idea. 
Besides,  I'm  much  too  heavy.  You  couldn't  pull  me  up 
if  you  tried  till  nightfall !  No,  no,  Adriano,  don't  be 
so  absurd.  Don't  spoil  our  time  together  with  these 
mad  ideas.  Let's  sit  down  here  and  talk.  Or  why  not 
light  a  fire.''  That  would  be  exciting  enough,  wouldn't 
it?" 

His  face  as  he  listened  to  her  darkened  to  a  kind  of 
savage  fury.  Its  despotic  and  imperious  lines  empha- 
sized themselves  to  a  degree  that  was  really  terrifying. 

"You  won't.''"  he  cried,  "you  won't,  you  won't .''" 
And  seizing  her  roughly  by  the  shoulder  he  actually  be- 
gan twisting  the  rope  round  her  body. 

She  resisted  desperately,  pushing  him  away  with  all 
the  strength  of  her  arms.  In  the  struggle  between 
them,  which  soon  became  a  dangerous  one,  her  hand 
thrusting  back  his  head  unintentionally  drew  blood  with 
its  delicate  finger-nails  from  his  upper  lip.  The  blood 
trickled  into  his  mouth  and,  maddened  by  the  taste  of 
it,  he  let  her  go  and  seizing  the  end  of  the  rope,  struck 
her  with  it  across  the  breast.  This  blow  seemed  to  be- 
wilder her.  She  ceased  all  resistance.  She  became 
docile  and  passive  in  his  hands. 

Mechanically  he  went  on  with  the  task  he  had  set 


322 


RODMOOR 


himself,  of  fastening  the  rope  round  her  beneath  her 
arm-pits  and  tying  it  into  a  knot.  But  her  absolute 
submissiveness  seemed  presently  to  paralyze  him  as 
much  as  his  previous  violence  had  disarmed  and  para- 
lyzed her.  He  unloosed  the  knot  he  was  making  and 
with  a  sudden  jerk  pulled  the  rope  away  from  her. 
The  rope  swung  back  to  its  former  position  and  dangled 
in  the  air,  swaying  gently  from  side  to  side.  They 
stood  looking  at  each  other  in  startled  silence  and  then, 
quite  suddenly,  the  girl  moved  forward  and  flung  her 
arms  round  his  neck. 

"  I  love  you !  "  she  murmured  In  a  voice  unlike  any 
he  had  heard  her  use  before.  "  I  love  you !  I  love 
you !  "  and  her  lips  clung  to  his  with  a  long  and  passion- 
ate kiss. 

Sorio's  emotions  at  that  moment  would  have  caused 
her,  had  she  been  conscious  of  them,  a  reaction  even  less 
endurable  than  that  which  she  had  just  been  through. 
To  confess  the  truth  he  had  no  emotion  at  all.  He  me- 
chanically returned  her  kisses ;  he  mechanically  em- 
braced her.  But  all  the  while  he  was  thinking  of  those 
water-beetles  with  shiny  metallic  coats  that  were  gyrat- 
ing even  now  so  swiftly  round  that  reedy  pool. 

"  Water-beetles  !  "  he  thought,  as  the  girl's  convulsive 
kisses,  salt  with  her  passionate  tears,  hurt  his  wounded 
lip.  "Water-beetles!  We  are  all  like  that.  The 
world  is  like  that !     Water-beetles  upon  a  dark  stream." 

She  let  him  go  at  last  and  they  moved  out  together 
hand  in  hand  into  the  open  air.  Above  them  the  enor- 
mous windmill  still  upheld  its  motionless  arms  while 
from  somewhere  in  the  fens  behind  it  came  a  strange 
whistling  cry,  the  cry  of  one  of  those  winged  intruders 
from  foreign  shores,  which  even  now  was  perhaps  bid- 


THE  WINDMILL 323 

ding  farewell  to  regions  of  exile  and  calling  out  for 
some  companion  for  its  flight  over  the  North  Sea. 

With  his  hand  still  held  tightly  in  hers,  Philippa 
walked  silently  by  his  side  all  that  long  way  across  the 
meadows  and  dykes.  Sorio  took  advantage  of  her  un- 
usually gentle  mood  and  began  plaintively  telling  her 
about  the  nervous  sufferings  he  endured  in  Rodmoor 
and  about  his  hatred  for  the  people  there  and  his  con- 
viction that  they  took  delight  in  annoying  him.  Then 
little  by  little,  as  the  girl's  sympathetic  silence  led  him 
on,  he  fell  to  flinging  out  —  in  short,  jerky,  broken 
sentences  —  as  if  each  word  were  torn  up  by  the  roots 
from  the  very  soil  of  his  soul,  stammered  references  to 
Baptiste.  He  spoke  as  if  he  were  talking  to  himself 
rather  than  to  her.  He  kept  repeating  over  and  over 
again  some  muttered  phrase  about  the  bond  of  abnormal 
affection  which  existed  between  them.  And  then  he 
suddenly  burst  out  into  a  description  of  Baptiste.  He 
rambled  on  for  a  long  while  upon  this  topic,  leaving  in 
the  end  only  a  very  blurred  impression  upon  his  hearer's 
mind.  All,  in  fact,  the  girl  was  able  to  definitely  ar- 
rive at  from  what  he  said  was  that  Baptiste  resembled 
his  mother  —  a  Frenchwoman  of  the  coast  of  Brittany 
—  and  that  he  was  tall  and  had  dark  blue  eyes. 

"  With  the  longest  lashes,"  Sorio  kept  repeating, 
as  if  he  were  describing  to  her  some  one  it  was  impor- 
tant she  should  remember,  "  that  you,  or  any  one  else, 
has  ever  seen !  They  lie  on  his  cheek  when  he's  asleep 
like  —  like  — " 

He  fumbled  with  the  feathery  head  of  a  reed  he  had 
picked  as  they  were  walking  but  seemed  unable  to  find 
any  suitable  comparison.  It  was  curious  to  see  the 
shamefaced,  embarrassed  way  he  threw  forth,  one  by 


324  RODMOOR 


one,  and  as  if  each  word  caused  him  definite  pain  in  the 
uttering,  these  allusions  to  his  boy. 

Philippa  let  him  ramble  on  as  he  pleased,  hardly  in- 
terrupting him  by  a  gesture,  listening  to  him,  in  fact, 
as  if  she  were  listening  to  a  person  talking  in  his 
sleep.  She  learnt  that  it  was  only  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  he  had  persuaded  Baptiste  to  keep  his 
position  in  New  York  and  not  fling  everything  up  and 
follow  him  to  London.  She  learnt  that  Baptiste  had 
copied  out  with  his  own  hand  the  larger  portion  of 
Sorio's  book  and  that  now,  as  he  completed  each  new 
chapter,  he  sent  it  by  registered  mail  straight  to  the 
boy  in  "  Eleventh  Street." 

"  It  will  explain  my  life,  my  whole  life,  that  book," 
Adrian  muttered.  "  You've  only  heard  a  few  of  its 
ideas,  Phil,  only  a  few.  The  secret  of  things  being 
found,  not  in  the  instinct  of  creation  but  in  the  instinct 
of  destruction,  is  only  the  beginning  of  it.  I  go  further 
—  much  further  than  that.  Don't  laugh  at  me,  Phil, 
if  I  just  say  this  —  only  just  this :  I  show  in  my  book 
how  what  every  living  thing  really  aims  at  is  to  escape 
from  itself,  to  escape  from  itself  by  the  destruction  of 
itself.  Do  you  get  the  idea  in  that,  Phil?  Everything 
in  the  world  is  —  how  shall  I  put  it?  —  these  ideas  are 
not  easy,  they  tear  at  a  person's  brain  before  they  be- 
come clear !  —  everything  in  the  world  is  on  the  edge, 
on  the  verge,  of  dissolving  away  into  what  people  call 
nothingness.  That  is  what  Shakespeare  had  in  his  mind' 
when  he  said,  '  the  great  globe  itself,  yea !  all  which  it 
inherits,  shall  dissolve  and  —  and  — '  I  forget  exactly 
how  it  runs  but  it  ends  with  *  leave  not  a  rack  behind.' 
But  the  point  I  make  in  my  book  is  this.  This  *  noth- 
ingness,' this  '  death,'  if  you  like,  to  which  everything 


THE  WINDMILL  325 


struggles  is  only  a  name  for  zcliat  lies  heyond  life  —  for 
what  lies,  I  mean,  beyond  the  extreme  limit  of  the  life  of 
every  individual  tiling.  We  shrink  back  from  it,  every- 
thing shrinks  back  from  it,  because  it  is  tlie  annihila- 
tion of  all  one's  familiar  associations,  the  destruction  of 
the  impulse  to  go  on  being  oneself!  But  though  we 
shrink  back  from  it,  something  in  us,  something  that  is 
deeper  than  ourselves  pushes  us  on  to  this  destruction. 
This  is  why,  when  people  have  been  outraged  in  the  very 
roots  of  their  being,  when  they  have  been  lacerated  and 
flayed  more  than  they  can  bear,  when  they  have  been,  so 
to  speak,  raked  through  and  combed  out,  they  often  fall 
back  upon  a  soft  delicious  tide  of  deep  large  happiness, 
indescribable,  beyond  words." 

He  was  too  absorbed  in  what  he  was  saying  to  notice 
that  as  he  made  this  remark  his  companion  murmured  a 
passionate  assent. 

"They  do!  They  do!  They  do!"  the  girl  re- 
peated, with  unrestrained  emotion. 

"  That  is  why,"  he  continued  without  heeding  her, 
*'  there  is  always  a  fierce  pleasure  in  what  fools  call 
*  cynicism.'  Cynicism  is  really  the  only  philosophy 
worth  calling  a  pliilosophy  because  it  alone  recognizes 
'  that  everything  which  exists  ought  to  be  destro^'ed.' 
Those  are  the  very  words  used  by  the  devil  in  Faust,  do 
you  remember.?  And  Goethe  himself  knew  in  his  heart 
the  truth  of  cynicism,  only  he  loved  life  so  well, —  the 
great  child  that  he  was!  —  that  he  couldn't  endure  the 
thought  of  destruction.  He  understood  it  though,  and 
confessed  it,  too.  Spinoza  helped  him  to  see  it.  Ah, 
Phil,  my  girl,  there  was  a  philosopher !  The  only  one 
—  the  only  one!  And  see  how  the  rabble  are  afraid  of 
Spinoza!     Sec  how  they  turn  to  the  contemptible  Hegel, 


326  RODMOOR 


the  grocer  of  philosophy,  with  his  precious  '  self-asser- 
tion '  and  '  self-realization  ' !  And  there  are  some  idiots 
who  fail  to  see  that  Spinoza  was  a  cynic,  that  he  hated 
life  and  wished  to  destroy  life.  They  pretend  that  he 
worshipped  Nature.  Nature!  He  denied  the  existence 
of  it.  He  wished  to  annihilate  it,  and  he  did  annihilate 
it,  in  his  terrible  logic.  He  worshipped  only  one  thing, 
that  which  is  beyond  the  limit,  beyond  the  extremest 
verge,  beyond  the  point  where  every  living  thing  ceases 
to  exist  and  becomes  nothing!  That's  what  Spinoza 
worshipped  and  that's  what  I  worship,  Phil.  I  worship 
the  blinding  white  light  which  puts  out  all  the  candles 
and  all  the  shadows  in  the  world.  It  blinds  you  and 
ends  you  and  so  you  call  it  darkness.  But  it  only  be- 
gins where  darkness  is  destroyed  with  everything  else! 
Darkness  is  like  cruelty.  It's  the  opposite  of  love. 
But  what  I  worship  is  as  far  beyond  love  as  it  is  be- 
yond the  sun  and  all  the  shadows  thrown  by  the  sun ! " 

He  paused  and  contemplated  a  nervous  water-rat  that 
was  running  along  close  to  the  water  of  the  ditch  they 
walked  by,  desperately  searching  for  its  hole. 

"  I  call  it  white  light,"  he  continued,  "  but  really  it's 
not  light  at  all,  any  more  than  it's  darkness.  It's  some- 
thing you  can't  name,  something  unutterable,  but  it's 
large  and  cool  and  deep  and  empty.  Yes,  it's  empty 
of  everything  that  lives  or  makes  a  sound !  It  stops  all 
aching  in  one's  head,  Phil.  It  stops  all  the  persecution 
of  people  who  stare  at  you !  It  stops  all  the  sickening 
tiredness  of  having  to  hate  things.  It'll  stop  all  my 
longing  for  Baptiste,  for  Baptiste  is  there.  Baptiste 
is  the  angel  of  that  large,  cool,  quiet  place.  Let  me 
once  destroy  everything  in  the  way  and  I  get  to  Bap- 
tiste —  and  nothing  can  ever  separate  us  again ! " 


THE  WINDMILL 327 

He  looked  round  at  the  grey  monotony  about  them, 
streaked  here  and  there  by  patches  of  autumnal  yellow 
where  the  stubble  fields  intersected  the  fens. 

"  I  prove  that  I'm  right  about  this  principle  of  de- 
struction, Phil,"  he  went  on,  "  by  bringing  up  instances 
of  the  way  all  human  beings  instinctive!}'  delight  to  over- 
throw one  another's  illusions  and  to  fling  doubt  upon 
one  another's  sincerity.  We  all  do  that.  You  do, 
Phil,  more  than  any  one.  You  do  it  to  me.  And  you're 
right  in  doing  it.  We're  all  right  in  doing  it !  That 
accounts  for  the  secret  satisfaction  we  all  feel  when 
something  or  other  breaks  up  the  complacency  of  an- 
other person's  life.  It  accounts  for  the  mad  desire 
we  have  to  destroy  the  complacency  of  our  own  life. 
What  we're  seeking  is  the  line  of  escape  —  that's  the 
phrase  I  use  in  my  book.  The  line  of  escape  from  our- 
selves. That's  why  we  turn  and  turn  and  turn,  like 
fish  gasping  on  the  land  or  like  those  beetles  we  saw 
just  now,  or  like  that  water-rat!" 

They  had  now  reached  the  outskirts  of  Nance's 
withy-bed.  The  path  Sorio  had  come  by  deviated  here 
sharph'  to  the  east,  heading  sea-wards,  while  another 
path,  Avider  and  more  frequented,  led  on  across  the 
meadows  to  the  bank  of  the  Loon  where  the  roof  and 
chimneys  of  Dyke  House  were  vaguely  visible.  The 
September  twilight  had  already  begun  to  fall  and  ob- 
jects at  any  considerable  distance  showed  dim  and 
wraith-like.  Damp  mists,  smelling  of  stagnant  water, 
rose  in  long  clammy  waves  out  of  the  fens  and  moved 
in  white  ghostly  procession  along  the  bank  of  the  river. 
Sorio  stood  at  this  parting  of  the  ways  and  surveyed  the 
shadowy  outline  of  the  distant  tow-path  and  the  yet 
more  obscure  form  of  Dyke  House.      He  looked  at  the 


328  RODMOOR 


stubble  field  and  then  at  the  little  wood  where  the  alder 
trees  differentiated  themselves  from  the  willows  by  their 
darker  and  more  melancholy  foliage. 

"  How  frightening  Dyke  House  looks  from  here,"  re- 
marked Philippa,  "  it  looks  like  a  haunted  house." 

A  sudden  idea  struck  Sorio's  mind. 

*'  Phil,"  he  said,  letting  go  his  companion's  hand  and 
pointing  with  his  stick  to  the  house  by  the  river,  "  you 
often  tell  me  you're  afraid  of  nothing  weird  or  super- 
natural. You  often  tell  me  you're  more  like  a  boy  in 
those  things  than  a  girl.  Look  here,  now!  You  just 
run  over  to  Dyke  House  and  see  how  Rachel  Doorm  is 
getting  on.  I  often  think  of  her  —  alone  in  that  place, 
now  Nance  and  Linda  have  gone.  I've  been  thinking  of 
her  especially  to-day  as  we've  come  so  near  here.  It's 
impossible  for  me  to  go.  It's  impossible  for  me  to  see 
any  one.  My  nerves  won't  stand  it.  But  I  must  say 
I  should  be  rather  glad  to  know  she  hadn't  quite  gone 
off  her  head.  It  isn't  very  nice  to  think  of  her  in  that 
large  house  by  herself,  the  house  where  her  father  died. 
Nance  told  me  she  feared  she'd  take  to  drink  just  as  the 
old  man  did.  Nance  says  it's  in  the  Doorm  family,  that 
sort  of  thing,  drink  or  insanity,  I  mean  —  or  both  to- 
gether, perhaps  !  "  and  he  broke  into  a  bitter  laugh. 

Philippa  drew  in  her  breath  and  looked  at  the  white 
mist  covering  the  river  and  at  the  ghostly  outlines  of  the 
Doorm  inheritance. 

*'  You  always  say  you're  like  a  boy,"  repeated  Sorio, 
throwing  himself  down  where  four  months  ago  he  had 
sat  with  Nance,  "  well,  prove  it  then !  Run  over  to 
Dyke  House  and  give  Rachel  Doorm  my  love.  I'll 
wait  for  you  here.  I  promise  faithfully.  You  needn't 
do  more  than  just  greet  the  old  thing  and  wish  her  well. 


THE  WINDIMITX 329 

She  loves  all  you  llenshaws.  Slie  idealizes  vou."  And 
lie  laughed  again. 

Philippa  regarded  him  silently.  For  one  moment  the 
old  wicked  flicker  of  subtle  mockery  seemed  on  the  point 
of  crossing  her  face.  But  it  died  instantly  away  and 
lier  eyes  grew  childish  and  wistful. 

"  I'm  not  a  boy,  I'm  a  woman,"  she  murmured  in  a 
low  voice. 

Sorio  frowned.  "  Well,  go,  whatever  you  are,"  he 
cried  roughly.  "  You're  not  tired,  are  you?  "  he  added 
a  little  more  gently. 

She  smiled  at  this.  "  All  right,  Adrian,"  she  said, 
"  I'll  go.     Give  me  one  kiss  first." 

She  knelt  down  hurriedly  and  put  her  arms  round  his 
neck.  Lying  with  his  back  against  the  trunk  of  an 
alder,  he  returned  her  caress  in  a  perfunctory,  absent- 
minded  manner,  precisely  as  if  she  were  an  importunate 
child. 

"  I  love  you  !  I  love  you  !  "  she  whispered  and  then 
leaping  to  her  feet,  "  Good-bye !  "  she  cried,  "  I'll  never 
forgive  you  if  you  desert  me." 

She  ran  off,  her  slender  figure  moving  through  the 
growing  twilight  like  a  swaying  birch  tree  half  seen 
through  mist.  Sorio's  mind  left  her  altogether.  An 
immense  yearning  for  his  son  took  possession  of  him  and 
he  set  himself  to  recall  every  precise  incident  of  their 
separation.  lie  saw  himself  standing  at  the  side  of  the 
crowded  liner.  He  saw  the  people  waving  and  shout- 
ing from  the  wooden  jetty  of  the  great  dock.  He  saw 
Baptiste,  standing  a  little  apart  from  the  rest,  motion- 
less, not  raising  even  a  hand,  paralyzed  by  the  misery 
of  his  departure.  He  too  was  sick  with  misery  then. 
He  remembered  the  exact  sensation  of  it  and  how  he  en- 


330  RODMOOR 


vied  the  sea-gulls  who  never  liiiew  these  human  sufferings 
and  the  gay  people  on  the  ship  who  seemed  to  have  all 
they  loved  with  them  at  their  side. 

"  Oh,  God,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  give  me  back  my 
son  and  you  may  take  everything  —  my  book,  my  pride, 
my  brain  —  everything !  everything !  " 

Meanwhile  Philippa  was  rapidly  approaching  Dyke 
House.  A  cold  damp  air  met  her  as  she  drew  near, 
rising  with  the  white  mists  from  off  the  surface  of  the 
river.  She  walked  round  the  house  and  pushed  open  the 
little  wooden  gate.  The  face  of  desolation  itself  looked 
at  her  from  that  neglected  garden.  A  few  forlorn 
dahlias  raised  their  troubled  wine-dark  heads  from 
among  strangling  nettles  and  sickly  plants  of  pallid- 
leaved  spurge.  Tangled  raspberry  canes  and  over- 
grown patches  of  garden-mint  mingled  with  wild  cranes- 
bill  and  darnel.  Grass  was  growing  thickly  on  the 
gravel  path  and  clumps  of  green  damp  moss  clung  to  the 
stone-work  of  the  entrance.  The  windows,  as  she  ap- 
proached the  house,  stared  at  her  like  eyes  —  eyes  that 
have  lost  the  power  to  close  their  lids.  There  were  no 
blinds  down  and  no  curtains  drawn  but  all  the  windows 
were  dark.  No  smoke  issued  from  the  chimney  and  not 
a  flicker  of  light  came  from  any  portion  of  the  place. 
Silent  and  cold  and  hushed,  it  might  have  been  only 
waiting  for  her  appearance  to  sink  like  an  apparition 
into  the  misty  earth.  With  a  beating  heart  the  girl 
ascended  the  steps  and  rang  the  bell.  The  sound 
clanged  horribly  through  the  empty  passages.  There 
was  a  faint  hardly  perceptible  stir,  such  as  one  might 
imagine  being  made  by  the  fall  of  disturbed  dust  or  the 
rustle  of  loose  paper,  but  that  was  all.  Dead  unbroken 
silence  flowed  back  upon  everything  like  the  flow  of 


THE  WINDMILL 331 

water  round  a  submerged  wreck.  There  was  not  even 
the  ticking  of  a  clock  to  break  the  stillness.  It  was 
more  than  the  mere  absence  of  any  sound,  that  silence 
which  held  the  Doorm  house.  It  was  silence  such  as 
possesses  an  individuality  of  its  own.  It  took  on,  as 
Philippa  waited  there,  the  shadowy  and  wavering  out- 
lines of  a  palpable  shape.  The  silence  greeted  the  girl 
and  welcomed  her  and  begged  her  to  enter  and  let  it 
embrace  her.  In  a  kind  of  panic  Philippa  seized  the 
handle  of  the  door  and  shook  it  violently.  More  to 
her  terror  than  reassurance  it  opened  and  a  cold  wave 
of  air,  colder  even  than  the  mist  of  the  river,  struck  her 
in  the  face.  She  advanced  slowly,  her  hand  pressed 
against  her  heart  and  a  sense  as  if  something  was  drum- 
ming in  her  ears. 

The  parlour  door  was  wide  open.  She  entered  the 
room.  A  handful  of  dead  flowers  —  wild  flowers  of 
some  kind  but  they  were  too  withered  to  be  distinguish- 
able —  hung  dry  and  sapless  over  the  edge  of  a  vase  of 
rank-smelling  water.  Otherwise  the  table  was  bare  and 
the  room  in  order.  She  came  out  again  and  went  into 
the  kitchen.  Here  the  presence  of  more  homely  and  un- 
sentimental objects  relieved  a  little  the  tension  of  her 
nerves.  But  the  place  w^as  absolutely  empty  —  save  for 
an  imprisoned  tortoise-shell  butterfly  that  was  beating 
itself  languidly,  as  if  it  had  done  the  same  thing  for 
days,  against  the  pane. 

Mindful  of  Sorio's  habit  and  with  even  the  faint  ghost 
of  a  smile,  she  opened  the  window  and  set  the  thing  free. 
It  was  a  relief  to  smell  the  river-smell  that  came  in  as 
she  did  this.  She  moved  out  of  the  kitchen  and  once 
more  stood  breathless,  listening  intently  in  the  silent 
hall-way.     It  was  growing  rapidly  darker;  she  longed 


332  RODMOOR 


to  rush  from  the  place  and  return  to  Sorio  but  some  in- 
describable power,  stronger  than  her  own  will,  retained 
her.  Suddenly  she  uttered  a  little  involuntary  cry. 
Struck  by  a  light  gust  of  wind,  the  front  door  which  she 
had  left  open,  swung  slowly  towards  her  and  closed  with 
a  vibrating  shock.  She  ran  to  the  back  and  opened  the 
door  which  led  to  the  yard.  Here  she  was  genuinely 
relieved  to  catch  the  sound  of  a  sleepy  rustling  in  the 
little  wood-shed  and  to  see  through  its  dusty  window  a 
white  blur  of  feathers.  There  were  fowls  alive  anyway 
about  Dyke  House.  That,  at  least,  was  some  satis- 
faction. Propping  the  door  open  by  means  of  an  iron 
scraper  she  returned  to  the  hall-way  and  looked  appre- 
hensively at  the  staircase.  Dared  she  ascend  to  the 
rooms  above.''  Dared  she  enter  Rachel  Doorm's  bed- 
room? She  moved  to  the  foot  of  the  stair-case  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  the  balustrade.  A  dim  flicker  of 
waning  light  came  in  through  the  door  she  had  propped 
open  and  fell  upon  the  heavy  chairs  which  stood  in  the 
hall  and  upon  a  fantastic  picture  representing  the  erup- 
tion of  Vesuvius.  The  old-fashioned  colouring  of  this 
print  was  now  darkened,  but  she  could  see  the  outlines 
of  the  mountain  and  its  rolling  smoke.  Once  again  she 
listened.  Not  a  sound !  She  took  a  few  steps  up  the 
stairs  and  paused.  Then  a  few  more  and  paused  again. 
Then  with  her  hands  tightly  clenched  and  a  cold  shiver- 
ing sensation  making  her  feel  sick  and  dizzy,  she  ran  up 
the  remainder  and  stood  weak  and  exhausted,  leaning 
against  the  pillar  of  the  balustrade  and  gazing  with 
startled  eyes  at  a  half-open  door. 

It  is  extraordinary  the  power  of  the  dead  over  the 
living!  Philippa  knew  that  in  that  room,  behind  that 
door,  was  the  thing  that  had  once  called  itself  a  woman 


THE  WINDMILL  333 

and  had  talked  and  laughed  and  eaton  and  drunk  with 
other  women.  When  Rachel  Doorm  was  about  the  age 
she  herself  had  now  reached  and  she  was  a  little  child, 
she  could  remember  how  she  had  built  sand-castles  for 
her  by  the  sea-shore  and  sang  to  her  old  Rodmoor  songs 
about  drowned  sailors  and  sea-kings  and  lost  children. 
And  now  she  knew  —  as  surely  as  if  her  hand  was  laid 
upon  her  cold  forehead  —  that  behind  that  door,  prob- 
ably in  some  ghastly  attitude  of  eternal  listening,  the 
corpse  of  all  that,  of  all  those  memories  and  many  more 
that  she  knew  nothing  of,  was  waiting  to  be  found,  to 
be  found  and  have  her  eyes  shut  and  her  jaw  bandaged 
—  and  be  prepared  for  her  coffin.  The  girl  gripped 
tight  hold  of  the  balustrade.  The  terror  that  took 
possession  of  her  then  was  not  that  Rachel  Doorm 
should  be  dead  —  dead  and  so  close  to  her,  but  that  she 
should  not  be  dead ! 

At  that  moment,  could  she  have  brought  herself  to 
push  that  door  wide  open  and  pass  in,  it  would  have  been 
much  more  awful,  much  more  shocking,  to  find  Rachel 
Doorm  alive  and  see  her  rise  to  meet  her  and  hear  her 
speak !  After  all,  what  did  it  matter  if  the  body  of  the 
woman  was  twisted  and  contorted  in  some  frightful  man- 
ner—  or  standing  perhaps  —  Rachel  Doorm  was  just 
the  one  to  die  standing  !  —  or  if  her  face  were  staring  up 
from  the  floor.''  What  did  it  matter,  supposing  she  did 
go  straight  in  and  feel  about  in  the  darkness  and  per- 
haps lay  her  hand  upon  the  dead  woman's  mouth.'* 
What  did  it  matter  even  if  she  did  see  her  hanging,  in 
the  faint  light  of  the  window,  from  a  hook  above  the 
curtain  with  her  head  bent  qucerly  to  one  side  and  a 
lock  of  her  hair  falling  loose?  None  of  these  things 
mattered.     None  of  them  prevented  her  going  straight 


334  RODMOOR 


into  that  room !  What  did  prevent  her  and  what  sent 
her  fleeing  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  house  with  a 
sudden  scream  of  intolerable  terror  was  the  fact  that 
at  that  moment,  quite  definitely,  there  came  the  sound 
of  breathing  from  the  room  she  was  looking  at.  A 
simple  thing,  a  natural  thing,  for  an  old  woman  to  re- 
tire to  her  bedroom  early  and  to  lie,  perhaps  with  all 
her  clothes  on,  upon  her  bed,  to  rest  for  a  while  before 
undressing.  A  simple  and  a  natural  thing!  But  the 
fact  remains  as  has  just  been  stated,  when  the  sound  of 
breathing  came  from  that  room  Philippa  screamed  and 
ran  panic-stricken  out  into  the  night.  She  hardly 
stopped  running,  indeed,  till  she  reached  the  willow 
copse  and  found  Sorio  where  she  had  left  him.  He  did 
not  resist  now  when  breathlessly  she  implored  him  to 
accompany  her  back  to  the  house.  They  walked 
hurriedly  there  together,  Adrian  in  spite  of  a  certain 
apprehension  smiling  in  the  darkness  at  his  companion's 
certainty  that  Rachel  Doorm  was  dead  and  her  equal 
certainty  that  she  had  heard  her  breathing. 

"  But  I  understand  your  feeling,  Phil,"  he  said.  "  I 
understand  it  perfectly.  I  used  to  have  the  same  sen- 
sation at  night  in  a  certain  great  garden  in  the  Cam- 
pagna  —  the  fear  of  meeting  the  boy  I  used  to  play 
with  before  I  expected  to  meet  him!  I  used  to  call 
out  to  him  and  beg  him  to  answer  me  so  as  to  make 
sure." 

Philippa  refused  to  enter  the  house  again  and  waited 
for  him  outside  by  the  garden  gate.  He  was  long  in 
coming,  so  long  that  she  was  seized  with  the  strangest 
thoughts.  But  he  came  at  last,  carrying  a  lantern  in 
his  hand. 

"  You're  right,  Phil,"  he  said,  "  the  gods  have  taken 


THE  WINDINITT.L  3.'35 

her.  She's  stone-dead.  And  what's  more,  she's  been 
dead  a  long  time,  several  weeks,  I  should  think." 

"But  the  breathing,  Adrian,  the  breathing?  I 
heard  it  distinctly." 

Sorio  put  down  his  lantern  and  leant  against  the  gate. 
In  spite  of  his  calm  demeanor  she  could  see  that  he  also 
had  experienced  something  over  and  above  the  finding 
of  Rachel's  body. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  you  w-ere  right  about  that,  too. 
Guess,  child,  what  it  was ! " 

And  as  he  spoke  he  put  his  hand  against  the  front 
of  his  coat  which  was  tightly  buttoned  up.  Philippa 
was  immediately  conscious  of  the  same  stertorous  noise 
that  she  had  heard  in  the  room  of  death. 

"  An  animal !  "  she  cried. 

"  An  owl,"  he  answered,  "  a  young  owl.  It  must  have 
fallen  from  a  nest  in  the  roof.  I  won't  show  it  to  you 
now,  as  it  might  escape  and  a  cat  might  get  it.  I'm 
going  to  try  and  rear  it  if  Tassar  will  let  me.  Baptiste 
will  be  so  amused  when  he  finds  me  with  a  pet  owl !  He 
has  quite  a  mania  for  things  like  that.  He  can  make 
the  birds  in  the  park  come  to  him  by  whistling.  Well ! 
I  suppose  what  we  must  do  now  is  to  get  back  to  Rod- 
moor  as  quick  as  we  can  and  report  this  business  to  the 
police.  She  must  have  been  dead  a  week  or  more ! 
I'm  afraid  this  will  be  a  great  shock  to  Nance." 

"  How  did  you  find  her.''  "  enquired  the  girl  as  they 
walked  along  the  road  towards  the  New  Bridge. 

"  Don't  ask  me,  Phil  —  don't  ask  me,"  he  replied, 
"  She's  out  of  her  troubles  anjway  and  had  an  owl  to 
look  after  her," 

"  Should  I  have  been  — "  began  his  companion. 

"  Don't  ask  me,  girl !  "  he  reiterated.     "  I  tell  you  it's 


336  RODMOOR 


all  past  and  over.  Rachel  Doorm  will  be  buried  in  the 
Rodmoor  churchyard  and  I  shall  have  her  owl.  An  old 
woman  stops  breathing  and  an  owl  begins  breathing. 
It's  all  natural  enough." 


XXII 

THE  NORTHWEST  WIND 

THE  funeral  of  Rachel  Doorm  was  a  dark  and 
troubled  day  for  both  Nance  and  Linda. 
Even  the  sympathy  of  Mr.  Traherne  seemed 
unable  to  console  them  or  lift  the  settled  gloom  from 
their  minds.  Nance  especially  was  struck  dumb  with 
comfortless  depression.  She  felt  doubly  guilty  in  the 
matter.  Guilty  in  her  original  acquiescence  in  the 
woman's  desire  to  have  them  with  her  in  Rodmoor  and 
guilty  in  her  neglect  of  her  during  the  last  weeks  of  her 
life.  For  the  immediate  cause  of  her  death,  or  of  the 
desperation  that  led  to  it,  their  leaving  Dyke  House  for 
the  village,  she  did  not  feel  any  remorse.  That  was  in- 
evitable after  what  had  occurred.  But  this  did  not 
lessen  her  responsibility  in  the  other  two  cases.  Had 
she  resolutely  refused  to  leave  London  the  probability 
was  that  Rachel  would  have  been  persuaded  to  go  on 
living  with  them  as  she  had  formerly  done.  She  might 
even  have  sold  Dyke  House  and  with  the  proceeds  bought 
some  cottage  in  the  city  suburbs  for  them  all.  It  was 
her  own  ill-fated  passion  for  Sorio,  she  recognized  that 
clearl}'  enough,  that  was  the  cause  of  all  the  disasters 
that  had  befallen  them. 

Linda's  feeling  with  regard  to  Rachel's  death  was 
quite  different.  She  had  to  confess  in  the  depths  of 
her  heart  that  she  was  glad  of  it,  glad  to  be  relieved  of 

the  constant  presence  of  something  menacing  and  vindic- 

337 


338  RODMOOR 


tivc  on  the  outskirts  of  her  life.  Her  trouble  was  of  a 
more  morbid  and  abnormal  kind,  was,  indeed,  the  fact 
that  in  spite  of  tiie  woman's  death,  she  hadnt  really  got 
rid  of  Rachel  Doorm.  The  night  before  the  funeral 
she  dreamed  of  her  almost  continually,  dreamed  that 
she  herself  was  a  child  again  and  that  Rachel  had 
threatened  her  with  some  unknown  and  mysterious  pun- 
ishment. The  night  after  the  funeral  it  was  still  worse. 
She  woke  Nance  by  a  fit  of  wild  and  desperate  crying 
and  when  the  elder  girl  tried  to  discover  the  nature  of 
her  trouble  she  grew  taciturn  and  reserved  and  refused 
to  say  anything  in  explanation.  All  the  following  week 
she  went  about  her  occupations  with  an  air  of  abstrac- 
tion and  remoteness  as  if  her  real  life  were  being  lived 
on  another  plane.  Nance  learnt  from  Mr.  Traherne, 
who  was  doing  all  he  could  think  of  to  keep  her  atten- 
tion fixed  on  her  organ-playing,  that  as  a  matter  of  fact 
she  frequently  came  out  of  the  church  after  a  few  min- 
utes' practise  and  went  and  stood,  for  long  periods  to- 
gether, by  Rachel's  grave.  The  priest  confessed  that 
on  one  of  the  occasions  when  he  had  surprised  her  in 
this  posture,  she  had  turned  upon  him  quite  savagely 
and  had  addressed  him  in  a  tone  completely  different 
from  her  ordinary  one. 

It  was  especially  dreadful  to  Nance  to  feel  she  was 
thrust  out  and  alienated  in  some  mysterious  way  from 
her  sister's  confidence. 

One  morning  towards  the  end  of  September,  when 
they  were  dressing  together  in  the  hazy  autumnal  light 
and  listening  to  the  cries  of  sea-gulls  coming  up  from 
the  harbour,  Nance  caught  upon  her  sister's  face,  as 
the  girl's  eyes  met  one  another  in  their  common  mirror, 
that  same  inscrutable  look  that  she  had  seen  upon  it 


THE  NORTHWEST  WIXD       339 

five  months  before  when,  in  tlieir  room  at  Dyke  House 
they  had  first  become  acquainted  with  the  eternal  itera- 
tion of  the  North  Sea's  waves.  Nance  tried  in  vain  all 
the  remainder  of  that  day  to  think  out  some  clue  to 
what  that  look  implied.  It  haunted  her  and  tantalized 
her.  Linda  had  always  possessed  something  a  little 
pleading  and  sad  in  her  eyes.  It  was  no  doubt  the 
presence  of  that  clinging  wistfulness  in  them  which  had 
from  the  first  attracted  Brand.  But  this  look  con- 
tained in  it  something  different.  It  suggested  to 
Nance,  though  she  dismissed  the  comparison  as  quite  in- 
adequate almost  as  soon  as  she  had  made  it,  the  cry  of  a 
soul  that  was  being  pulled  backwards  into  some  interior 
darkness  yet  uttering  all  the  while  a  desperate  prayer  to 
be  let  alone  as  if  the  least  interference  with  what  destiny 
was  doing  would  be  the  cause  of  yet  greater  peril. 

The  following  night  as  she  lay  awake  watching  a 
filmy  trail  of  vaporous  clouds  sail  across  a  wasted  hag- 
gard moon,  a  moon  that  seemed  to  betray  as  that  bright 
orb  seldom  does  the  fact  that  it  was  a  corpse-world 
hung  there  with  almost  sacrilegious  and  indecent  ex- 
posure, under  the  watchful  stars,  she  noticed  with  dis- 
may the  white-robed  figure  of  her  sister  rise  from  her 
bed  and  step  lightly  across  the  room  to  the  open  win- 
dow. Nance  watched  her  with  breathless  alarm.  Was 
she  awake  or  asleep?  She  leant  out  of  the  window,  her 
long  hair  falling  heavily  to  one  side.  Nance  fancied 
she  heard  her  muttering  something  but  the  noise  of  the 
sea,  for  the  tide  was  high  then  in  the  early  morning 
hours,  prevented  her  catching  the  words.  Nance  threw 
off  the  bed-clothes  and  stole  noiselessly  towards  her. 
Yes,  certainly  she  was  speaking.  The  words  came  in  a 
low,  plaintive  murmur  as   if  she  were  pleading  with 


340  RODMOOR 


some  one  out  there  in  the  misty  night.  Nance  crept 
gently  up  to  her  and  listened,  afraid  to  touch  her  lest 
she  should  cause  her  some  dangerous  nervous  shock  but 
anxious  to  be  as  close  to  her  as  she  could. 

"  I  am  good  now,"  she  heard  her  say,  "  I  am  good 
now,  Rachel.  You  can  let  me  out  now!  I  will  say 
those  words,  I  am  good  now.  I  won't  disobey  you 
again." 

There  was  a  long  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sound 
of  the  Sea  and  the  beating  of  Nance's  heart.  Then 
once  more,  the  voice  rose. 

"  It's  down  too  deep,  Rachel,  you  can't  reach  it  with 
that.  But  I'll  go  in.  I'm  not  afraid  any  more!  If 
only  you'll  let  me  out.  I'll  go  in  deep  —  deep  —  and 
get  it  for  you.  She  can't  hold  it  tight.  The  water  is 
too  strong.  Oh,  I'll  be  good,  Rachel.  I'll  get  it  for 
you  if  only  you'll  let  me  out ! " 

Nance,  unable  to  endure  any  more  of  this,  put  her 
arms  gently  round  her  sister's  body  and  drew  her  back 
into  the  room.  The  young  girl  did  not  resist.  With 
wide-open  but  utterly  unconscious  eyes  she  let  herself  be 
led  across  the  room.  Only  when  she  was  close  to  her 
bed  she  held  back  and  her  body  became  rigid. 

"  Don't  put  me  in  there  again,  Rachel.  Anything 
but  that !  " 

"Darling!"  cried  Nance  desperately,  "don't  you 
know  me.-*  I'm  with  you,  dear.  This  is  Nance  with 
you.     No  one  shall  hurt  you  !  " 

The  young  girl  shuddered  and  looked  at  her  with  a 
bewildered  and  troubled  gaze  as  if  everything  were 
vague  and  obscure.  At  that  moment  there  came  over 
Nance  that  appalling  terror  of  the  unconscious,  of  the 
sub-human  which  is  one  of  the  especial  dangers  of  those 


THE  NORTHWEST  WIND       341 

who  have  to  look  after  the  insane  or  follow  the  move- 
ments of  somnambulists.  But  the  shudder  passed  and 
the  bewildered  look  was  superseded  by  one  of  gradual 
obliviousness.  The  girl's  body  relaxed  and  she  swayed 
as  she  stood.  Nance,  with  a  violent  effort,  lifted  her  in 
her  arms  and  laid  her  down  on  the  bed.  The  girl 
muttered  something  and  turned  over  on  her  side. 
Nance  watched  her  anxiously  but  she  was  soon  relieved 
to  catch  the  sound  of  her  quiet  breathing.  She  was 
asleep  peacefully  now.  She  looked  so  pathetically 
loveh',  lying  there  in  a  childish  position  of  absolute 
abandonment  that  Nance  could  not  resist  bending  over 
her  and  lightly  kissing  her  cheek. 

"  Poor  darling !  "  she  said  to  herself,  "  how  blind  I've 
been  !  How  wickedly  blind  I've  been  !  "  She  pulled  the 
blanket  from  her  own  bed  and  threw  it  over  her  sister  so 
as  not  to  disturb  her  by  altering  the  bed-clothes.  Then, 
wrapping  herself  in  her  dressing-gown  she  lay  back  upon 
her  pillows  resigned  for  the  rest  of  the  night  to  remain- 
ing wakeful. 

The  next  day  she  noticed  no  difference  in  Linda's 
mood.  There  was  the  same  abstraction,  the  same  list- 
less lack  of  interest  in  anything  about  her  and  worst 
of  all  that  same  inscrutable  look  which  filled  Nance  with 
every  sort  of  wild  imagination.  She  cast  about  in  de- 
spair for  some  way  of  breaking  the  evil  spell  under 
which  the  girl  was  pining.  She  went  again  and  again 
to  see  Mr.  Traherne  and  the  good  man  devoted  hours 
of  his  time  to  discussing  the  matter  with  her  but  noth- 
ing either  of  them  could  think  of  seemed  a  possible 
solution. 

At  last  one  morning,  some  days  after  that  terrifying 
night,  she  met  Dr.  Raughty  in  the  street.     She  walked 


342  RODMOOR 


with  him  as  far  as  the  bridge  explaining  to  him  as  best 
she  could  her  apprehensions  about  her  sister  and  asking 
him  for  his  advice.  Dr.  Raughty  was  quite  definite  and 
unhesitating. 

"  What  Linda  wants  is  a  mother,"  he  said  laconically. 
Nance  stared  at  him. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  I  know  well  enough,  poor 
darling!  But  that's  the  worst  of  it,  Fingal.  Her 
mother's  been  dead  years  and  years  and  years." 

"  There  are  other  mothers  in  Rodmoor,  aren't 
there?"  he  remarked. 

Nance  frowned.  "  You  think  I  don't  look  after  her 
properly,"  she  murmured.  "  No,  I  suppose  I  haven't. 
And  yet  I've  tried  to  —  I've  tried  my  very  best." 

"  You're  as  hopeless  as  your  Adrian  with  his  owl," 
cried  the  Doctor.  "  He  was  feeding  it  with  cake  the 
other  day.  Cake !  He'd  better  not  bring  his  owl  and 
our  friend's  rat  together.  There  won't  be  much  of  the 
rat  left.  Cake !  "  And  the  Doctor  put  back  his  head 
and  uttered  an  immense  gargantuan  laugh.  Nance 
looked  a  little  disturbed  and  even  a  little  indignant  at 
his  merriment. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  other  mothers?  "  she  asked. 
They  had  just  reached  the  bridge  and  Dr.  Raughty  bade 
her  look  over  the  parapet. 

"  What  exquisite  bellies  those  dace  have ! "  he  re- 
marked, snuffing  the  air  as  he  spoke.  "  There'll  be  rain 
before  night.  Do  you  feel  it?  I  know  from  the  way 
those  fish  rise.  The  sea  too,  it  has  a  different  voice  — 
has  that  ever  caught  your  attention?  —  when  there's 
rain  on  the  wind.  Those  dace  are  shrewd  fellows. 
They're  after  the  bits  of  garbage  the  sea-gulls  drop  on 
their  way  up  the  river.     You  might  think  they  were 


THE  NORTHWEST  WTXD       343 

after  flies,  but  tliej're  not.  I  suppose  George  Crabbe 
or  George  Borrow  would  switcli  'em  out  with  some  bait 
such  as  was  never  dreamed  of  —  the  droppings  of  rab- 
bits perhaps  or  ladybird  grubs.  I  suppose  old  Doc- 
tor Johnson  would  wade  in  up  to  his  knees  and  try  and 
scoop  'em  up  in  his  hands.  There's  a  big  one !  Do 
you  see?  The  one  waving  his  tail  and  turning  side- 
ways. I  expect  he  weighs  half  a  pound  or  more.  Fish 
are  beautiful  things,  especially  dace.  Isn't  it  wonder- 
ful to  think  that  if  you  pulled  any  of  those  things  back- 
wards through  the  water  they  would  be  drowned,  simply 
by  the  rush  of  water  through  their  gills?  Look,  Nance, 
at  that  one !  What  a  silver  belly !  What  a  delicate, 
exquisite  tail !  A  plague  on  these  fellows  who  philander 
with  owls  and  rats !  Give  me  fish  —  if  you  want  to 
make  a  cult  of  something."  He  lowered  his  voice  to  a 
whisper,  "  I  should  think  Lubric  de  Lauziere  must  have 
kept  a  pet  fish  in  his  round  pond !  " 

"  Good-bye,  Fingal,"  said  Nance,  holding  out  her 
hand. 

"What!  Well!  Where!  God  help  us!  What's 
wrong,  Nance?  You're  not  annoyed  with  me,  are  you? 
Do  you  think  I'm  talking  through  my  hat?  Not  at 
all!  I'm  leading  up  to  it.  A  mother  —  that's  what 
she  wants.  She  wants  it  just  as  those  dace  want  the 
water  to  flow  in  their  faces  and  not  backwards  through 
their  gills.  She's  being  dragged  backwards  —  that's 
what's  the  matter  with  her.  She  wants  her  natural  ele- 
ment and  it  must  flow  in  the  right  direction.  Yon 
won't  do.  Traherne  won't  do.  A  mother  is  the  thincr! 
A  woman,  Nance,  who  has  borne  children  has  certain 
instincts  in  dealing  with  young  girls  which  make  the 
wisest  physicians  in  the  world  look  small !  " 


344  RODINIOOR 


Nance  smiled  helplessly  at  him. 

"But,  Fingal,  dear,"  she  said,  "what  can  I  do?  I 
can't  appeal  to  Mrs.  Raps,  can  I  —  or  your  friend  Mrs. 
Sodderley.''  When  you  come  to  think,  there  are  very 
few  mothers  in  Rodmoor !  " 

The  Doctor  sighed.  "  I  know  it,"  he  observed  mourn- 
fully, "  I  know  it.  The  place  will  die  out  altogether  in 
fifty  years.  It's  as  bad  as  the  sand-dunes  with  their 
sterile  flora.  Women  who  bear  children  are  the  only 
really  sane  people  in  the  world." 

He  ran  his  thumb,  as  he  spoke,  backwards  and  for- 
wards over  a  little  patch  of  vividly  green  moss  that  grew 
between  the  stones  of  the  parapet.  The  air,  crisp  and 
autumnal  with  that  vague  scent  of  burning  weeds  in  it 
which  more  than  anything  else  suggests  the  outskirts 
of  a  small  town  at  the  end  of  the  summer,  flowed  round 
them  both  with  a  mute  appeal  to  her,  so  it  seemed  to 
Nance,  to  let  all  things  drift  as  they  might  and  submit 
to  destiny.  She  looked  at  the  Doctor  dreamily  in  one 
of  those  queer  intermissions  of  human  consciousness  in 
which  we  stand  apart,  as  it  were,  from  our  own  fate  and 
listen  to  the  flowing  of  the  eternal  tide. 

A  small  poplar  tree  growing  at  the  village  end  of  the 
bridge  had  already  lost  some  of  its  leaves  and  a  few  of 
these  came  drifting,  one  by  one,  along  the  raised  stone 
pathway  to  the  girl's  feet.  Over  the  misty  marsh  lands 
in  the  other  direction,  she  could  see  the  low  tower  of  the 
church.  The  gilded  weather-vane  on  the  top  of  it  shim- 
mered and  glittered  in  a  vaporous  stream  of  sunlight 
that  seemed  to  touch  nothing  else. 

Dreamily  she  looked  at  the  Doctor,  too  weary  of  the 
struggle  of  life  to  make  an  effort  to  leave  him  and  yet 
quite  hopeless  as  to  his  power  to  help  her.     Fingal 


THE  NORTHWEST  WIND       345 

Rauglity   continued   to  discourse   upon   the   instinctive 
wisdom  of  maternity. 

*'  Women  who've  had  cliildren,"  he  went  on,  "  are  the 
only  people  in  the  world  who  possess  the  open  secret. 
They  know  what  it  is  to  find  the  ultimate  virtue  in  ex- 
quisite resignation.  They  do  not  only  submit  to  fate 
—  they  joyfully  embrace  it,  I  suppose  we  might  main- 
tain that  they  even  '  love  it ' —  though  I  confess  that 
that  idea  of  *  loving '  fate  has  always  seemed  to  me 
weird  and  fantastic.  But  I  laugh,  and  so  do  you,  I  ex- 
pect, when  our  friends  Sorio  and  Tassar  talk  in  their 
absurd  way  about  women.  What  do  they  know  of 
women .f*  They've  only  met,  in  all  their  lives  (forgive 
me,  Nance !)  a  parcel  of  silly  young  girls.  They've  no 
right  to  speak  of  life  at  all,  the  depraved  children  that 
they  are !  They  are  outside  life,  they're  ignorant  of 
the  essential  m3'stery.  Goethe  was  the  fellow  to  under- 
stand these  things,  and  you  know  the  name  he  gives  to 
the  unutterable  secret?  The  Mothers.  That's  a  good 
name,  isn't  it  .'*  The  Mothers !  Listen,  Nance !  All 
the  people  in  this  place  suffer  from  astigmatism  and 
asymmetry.  Those  are  the  outward  signs  of  their  men- 
tal departure  from  the  normal.  And  the  clever  ones 
among  them  are  proud  of  it.  You  know  the  way  they 
talk !  They  think  abnormality  is  the  only  kind  of 
beauty.  Nance,  my  dear,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  sick 
of  them  all.  ^fy 'idea  of  beauty  is  the  perfect  masculine 
type,  such  as  you  see  it  in  that  figure  they  call  '  the 
Theseus  ' —  in  the  Elgin  marbles  —  or  the  perfect 
feminine  type  as  you  see  it  in  the  great  Demeter.  Do 
you  suppose  they  can,  any  of  them,  get  round  that? 
Do  you  suppose  they  can  fight  against  the  rhj'thm  of 
Nature?" 


346  RODMOOR 


He  pulled  out  his  tobacco  pouch  and  gravely  lit  his 
pipe,  swinging  his  head  backwards  and  forwards  as  he 
did  so.  Nance  could  not  help  noticing  the  shrewd, 
humorous  animalism  of  his  look  as  he  performed  this 
function. 

"  But  what  can  be  done?  Oh,  Fingal,  what  can  be 
done  about  Linda?  "  she  asked  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

He  settled  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  blew  violently 
down  its  stem,  causing  a  cloud  of  smoke  to  go  up  into 
the  September  air. 

"  Take  her  to  j\Irs.  Renshaw,"  he  said  solemnly. 
"  That's  what  I've  been  thinking  all  this  time.  That's 
my  conclusion.     Take  her  to  Mrs.  Renshaw." 

Nance  stared  at  him.  "  Reallv? "  she  murmured, 
"  you  really  think  she  could  help?  " 

"  Try  it  —  try  it  —  try  it !  "  cried  Dr.  Raughtj^ 
flinging  a  bit  of  moss  at  the  fish  in  the  water  below 
them. 

"  It's  extraordinary,"  he  added,  "  that  these  dace 
should  come  down  so  far  as  this !  The  water  here  must 
be  almost  entirely  salt." 

That  afternoon  Nance  went  to  Mr.  Traherne's 
vesper  service.  She  found  Mrs.  Renshaw  in  the  church 
and  invited  both  her  and  the  priest  to  come  back  with 
them  to  their  lodgings.  She  did  this  under  the  pre- 
tense of  showing  them  some  new  designs  of  a  startling 
and  fascinating  kind  that  she  had  received  from  Paris. 
The  circean  witcheries  of  French  costumery  were  not 
perhaps  precisely  the  right  attraction  either  for  Mrs. 
Renshaw  or  Hamish  Trahcrne,  but  the  thing  served 
well  enough  as  an  excuse  and  they  both  took  it  as  such. 
She  was  careful  to  hurry  on  in  advance  with  Mr.  Tra- 
herne  so  as  to  make  it  inevitable  that  Linda  should  walk 


THE  NORTHWEST  WIND       347 


with  Mrs.  Renshaw.  The  mistress  of  Oakguard  seemed 
unusually  pale  and  tired  that  afternoon.  She  held 
Linda  back  in  the  churchyard  until  the  others  had  got 
quite  far  and  then  she  led  her  straight  to  Rachel 
Doorm's  grave.  They  had  buried  the  unhappy  woman 
quite  close  to  the  outermost  border  of  the  priest's  gar- 
den. Nothing  but  a  few  paces  of  level  grass  separated 
her  from  a  row  of  tall  crimson  hollyhocks.  The  grave 
at  present  lacked  any  headstone.  Only  a  bunch  of 
Michaelmas  daisies,  placed  there  by  Linda  herself,  stood 
at  its  foot  in  a  glass  jar.  Several  wasps  were  buzzing 
round  this  jar,  probably  conscious  of  some  faint  odour 
clinging  still  about  it  from  what  it  had  formerly  con- 
tained. Mrs.  Renshaw  stood  with  her  hand  leaning 
heavily  on  Linda's  shoulder.  She  seemed  to  know,  from 
the  depths  of  her  own  fathomless  morbidity,  precisely 
what  the  young  girl  was  feeling. 

"Shall  we  kneel  down,'*"  she  said.  Linda  began 
trembling  a  little  but  with  simple  and  girlish  docility, 
free  from  any  kind  of  embarrassment,  she  knelt  at  the 
other's  side. 

"  We  mustn't  pray  for  the  dead,"  whispered  ]Mrs. 
Renshaw.  "  He"  she  meant  Mr.  Traherne,  "  tells  us  to 
in  his  sermons,  but  it  hurts  me  when  he  does  for  we've 
been  taught  that  all  that  is  wrong  —  wrong  and  con- 
trary to  our  simple  faith!  We  mustn't  forget  the 
Martyrs  —  must  we,  Linda?  " 

But  Linda's  mind  was  far  from  the  martyrs.  It  was 
occupied  entirely  with  the  thing  that  la}^  buried  before 
them,  under  that  newly  disturbed  earth. 

"  But  we  can  pray  to  God  that  His  will  be  done,  on 
earth,  even  as  it  is  in  Heaven,"  murmured  Mrs.  Ren- 
shaw. 


348  RODMOOR 


She  was  silent  after  that  and  the  younger  and  the 
elder  woman  knelt  side  by  side  with  bowed  heads.  Then 
in  a  low  whisper  Mrs.  Renshaw  spoke  again. 

"  There  are  some  lines  I  should  like  to  say  to  you, 
dear,  if  you'll  let  me.  I  copied  them  out  last  week. 
They  were  at  the  end  of  a  book  of  poetry  that  I  found 
in  Philippa's  room.  She  must  have  just  bought  it  or 
had  it  given  to  her.  I  didn't  think  she  cared  any  more 
for  poetry.  The  pages  weren't  cut  and  I  didn't  like  to 
cut  them  without  her  leave  but  I  copied  this  out  from 
the  end.     It  was  the  last  in  the  book." 

She  hesitated  a  moment  while  Linda  remained  motion- 
less at  her  side,  trembling  still  a  little  and  watching  the 
movements  of  a  Peacock  butterfly  which  was  then  shar- 
ing with  the  wasps  their  interest  in  the  ancient  honey- 
jar. 

Mrs.  Renshaw  then  repeated  the  following  lines  in  a 
clear  exquisitely  modulated  voice  which  went  drifting 
away  over  the  surrounding  marshes. 

"  For  even  the  purest  delight  may  pall, 

And  power  must  fail  and  the  pride  must  fall, 

And  the  love  of  the  dearest  friends  grow  small. 
But  the  glory  of  the  Lord  is  all  in  all." 

Her  voice  sank.  A  slight  gust  of  wind  made  the  trees 
above  them  sigh  softly  as  though  the  words  of  the 
kneeling  woman  were  in  harmony  with  the  inarticulate 
heart  of  the  earth. 

Linda  stopped  trembling.  A  sweet  indescribable 
calm  began  slowly  to  pervade  her.  Gently,  like  a  child, 
she  slipped  her  hand  into  her  companion's. 

"Do  3^ou  remember  the  Forty-third  Psalm,  Linda.'*'* 
Mrs.  Renshaw  continued  and  her  clear  dramatic  voice, 


THE  NORTHWEST  WIND       349 

with   a   power   of   feeling  equal   to   that  of  any  great 
actress,  once  more  rose  upon  the  air. 

"  Our  heart  is  not  turned  back,  neither  have  our  steps  declined 

from  thy  way. 
Though  thou  hast  sore  broken  us,  in  the  place  of  dragons,  and 

covered  us  with  the  shadow  of  death." 

Once  more  she  was  silent  but  with  a  slight  veering  of 
the  wind,  the  sound  of  the  waves  beyond  the  sand-dunes 
came  to  them  with  pitiless  distinctness.  It  seemed  to 
mock  —  this  voice  of  the  earth's  antagonist  —  mock, 
in  triumphant  derision,  the  forlorn  hope  which  that 
solemn  invocation  had  roused  in  the  girl's  heart.  But 
in  contending  against  Mrs.  Renshaw's  knowledge  of 
the  Psalms  even  the  North  Sea  had  met  its  match. 
With  her  pale  face  uplifted  and  a  wild  light  in  her  eyes, 
she  continued  to  utter  the  old  melodious  incantations 
with  their  constant  references  to  a  Power  more  formid- 
able than  "  all  thy  waves  and  storms."  She  might  have 
been  one  of  the  early  converts  to  the  faith  that  came 
from  the  sacred  Desert,  wrestling  in  spiritual  ecstasy 
with  the  gods  and  powers  of  those  heathen  waters. 

Either  by  one  of  the  fortunate  coincidences  which 
sometimes  interrupt  even  the  irony  of  nature  or,  as  Mrs. 
Renshaw  would  herself  have  maintained,  by  a  direct  an- 
swer to  her  prayer,  the  weathercock  on  the  church 
tower  swung  round  again.  North-east  it  swung,  then 
north-north-east,  then  due  north.  And  finally,  even 
while  she  was  uttering  her  last  antiphony,  it  pointed  to 
north-west,  the  quarter  most  alien  and  antagonistic  to 
the  Rodmoor  sea,  the  portion  of  the  horizon  from  which 
blew  the  wind  of  the  great  fens. 

In  a  country  like  East  Anglia  so  peculiarly  at  the 


350  RODMOOR 


mercy  of  the  elements,  every  one  of  the  winds  has  its 
own  peculiar  burden  and  brings  with  it  something  heal- 
ing and  restorative  or  baleful  and  malefic.  The  east 
wind  here  is,  in  a  paramount  sense,  the  evil  wind,  the 
accomplice  and  confederate  of  the  salt  deep,  the  blighter 
of  hopes,  the  herald  of  disaster.  The  north-west  wind, 
on  the  contrary,  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  sense  of  in- 
land spaces,  the  smell  of  warm,  wet  earth  and  the  fra- 
grance of  leaf  mould  in  sweet  breathing  woods.  It  is  the 
wind  that  fills  the  rivers  and  the  wells  and  brings  the 
fresh  purifying  rain.  It  is  a  wind  full  of  memories  and 
its  heart  is  strong  with  the  power  of  ancient  love,  re- 
vived even  out  of  graves  and  sepulchres.  To  those 
sensitive  to  finer  and  rarer  earth  influences  among  the 
dwellers  by  the  east  coast  there  may  be  caught  some- 
times upon  the  north-west  wind  the  feeling  of  pine  woods 
and  moorland  heather.  For  it  comes  from  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  great  plain,  from  Brandon  Heath  and 
even  bc^'ond  and  it  finds  nothing  in  the  wide  fen  country 
to  intercept  it  or  break  the  rush  of  its  sea-ward  pass- 
age. 

Thus,  when  the  two  women  rose  finally  to  their  feet  it 
was  to  be  met  by  a  cool,  healing  breath  which,  as  it 
bowed  the  ranks  of  the  hollyhocks  and  rustled  through 
the  trees,  had  in  it  a  delicious  odour  of  inland  brooks 
and  the  coming  of  pure  rain. 

"  Listen  to  me,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Renshaw  as  they 
passed  out  of  the  churchyard,  "  I  want  to  say  this  to 
you.  You  mustn't  think  that  God  allows  any  inter- 
course between  the  living  and  the  dead.  That  is  a 
wicked  invention  of  our  own  sinful  hearts.  It  is  a 
temptation,  darling — a  temptation  of  the  devil  —  and 
we  must  struggle  against  it.     Whenever  we  feel  it  we 


THE  NORTHWEST  WIND       3.51 

must  struggle  against  it  and  pray.  It  is  perfectly  right 
for  you  to  think  gently  and  forgivingly  of  poor  Miss 
Doorm.  It  were  wrong  to  think  otherwise.  But  you 
mustn't  think  of  her  as  anywhere  near  us  or  about  us 
now.  She's  in  the  hands  of  God  and  in  the  mercy  of 
God  and  we  must  leave  her  there.  Do  you  hear  what 
I'm  saying,  Linda?  Do  you  understand  me?  Any- 
thing else  is  wrong  and  evil.  We  arc  all  sinners  to- 
gether and  we  are  all  in  the  same  merciful  hands." 

Never  was  the  exorcising  of  powers  hurtful  to  hu- 
manity more  effective.  Linda  bowed  her  head  at  her 
words  and  then  raising  it  freely,  walked  with  a  lighter 
step  than  for  seven  long  days.  She  wished  in  her  heart 
that  she  had  the  courage  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Renshaw  about 
an  anxiety  much  more  earthly,  much  less  easy  to  be 
healed,  than  the  influence  of  Rachel  Doorm,  alive  or 
dead,  but  so  immense  was  her  relief  at  that  moment  to 
be  free  from  the  haunting  phantom  that  had  been  pull- 
ing her  towards  that  mound  in  the  churchyard  that  she 
found  it  in  her  heart  to  be  hopeful  and  reckless  even 
though  she  knew  that,  whatever  happened,  there  was 
bound  to  be  pain  and  trouble  in  store  for  her  in  the  not 
far  distant  future. 


XXIII 

WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES 

IT  will  be  found  not  altogether  devoid  of  a  strange 
substratum  of  truth,  though  fantastic  enough 
in  the  superficial  utterance,  the  statement  that 
there  are  certain  climacteric  seasons  in  the  history 
of  places  when,  if  events  of  importance  are  looming 
upon  the  horizon,  they  are  especially  liable  to  fall. 
Such  a  season  with  regard  to  Rodmoor,  or  at  least  with 
regard  to  the  persons  we  are  most  concerned  with  there, 
may  be  said  to  have  arrived  with  the  beginning  of 
Autumn  and  with  the  month  of  October. 

The  first  weeks  of  this  month  were  at  any  rate  full  of 
exciting  and  fatal  interest  to  Nance.  Something  in  the 
change  of  the  weather,  for  the  rains  had  come  in  earnest 
now,  affected  Sorio  in  a  marked  degree.  His  whole  be- 
ing seemed  to  undergo  some  curious  disintegrating  proc- 
ess as  difficult  to  analyze  as  the  actual  force  in  Nature 
which  was  at  that  very  time  causing  the  fall  of  the 
leaves.  We  may  be  allowed  to  draw  at  least  this  much 
from  Sorio's  own  theory  of  the  universal  impulse  to 
self-destruction  —  the  possible  presence,  that  is  to  say, 
of  something  positive  and  active,  if  not  personal  and 
conscious,  in  the  processes  of  natural  decadence.  Life, 
when  it  corrupts  and  disintegrates ;  life  when  it  finally 
falls  away  and  becomes  what  we  call  death,  does  so 
sometimes,  or  seems  to  do  so,  with  a  vehemence  and  im- 
petuosity which  makes  it  difficult  not  to  feel  the  pres- 

352 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES      353 

sure  of  some  half-conscious  "  will  to  perish  "  in  the 
thing  thus  plunging  towards  dissolution.  The  brilliant 
colour  which  many  flowers  assume  when  they  approach 
decease  bears  out  this  theory.  It  is  what  the  poet  calls 
a  "  lightning  before  death  "  and  the  rich  tints  of  the 
autumn  foliage  as  well  as  the  phosphorescent  glories  — 
only  repulsive  to  our  human  senses  in  fatal  association 
—  of  physical  mortality  itself,  are  symbols,  if  not  more 
than  symbols,  of  the  same  splendid  rushing  upon  noth- 
ingness. 

This  change  in  Sorio  was  not  at  all  to  Nance's  dis- 
advantage in  the  external  aspect  of  the  relations  be- 
tween them ;  indeed,  she  was  carried  forward  by  it  to  the 
point  of  coming  to  anticipate  with  trembling  excite- 
ment what  had  begun  to  seem  an  almost  impossible  hap- 
piness. For  Sorio  definitely  and  in  an  outburst  of  im- 
patient pleading,  implored  her  to  marry  him.  In  the 
deeper,  more  spiritual  association  between  them,  how- 
ever, the  change  which  took  place  in  him  now  was  less 
satisfactory.  Nance  could  not  help  feeling  that  there 
was  something  blind,  childish,  selfish,  unchivalrous, — 
something  even  reckless  and  sinister  —  about  this  pro- 
posal and  the  passionate  eagerness  with  which  he 
pressed  it  upon  her,  considering  that  he  made  no  more 
attempt  than  before  to  secure  any  employment  and 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that  either  she  or  Balta- 
zar  Stork  or  his  own  son  in  America,  or  some  vague 
providential  windfall  w;ould  provide  the  mone}'  for  this 
startling  adventure.  Side  by  side  with  her  surprise  at 
his  careless  disregard  for  all  practical  considerations, 
Nance  could  not  help  feeling  a  profound  apprehension 
which  she  herself  was  unwilling  to  bring  to  the  surface 
of  her  mind  with  regard  to  his  mood  and  manner  during 


354  RODMOOR 


these  days.  He  seemed  to  throw  himself  passively  and 
helplessly  upon  her  hands.  He  clung  to  her  as  a  sick 
child  might  cling  to  its  parent.  His  old  savage  out- 
bursts of  cynical  humour  seemed  to  have  vanished  and 
in  their  place  was  a  constant  querulousness  and  peevish- 
ness which  rendered  their  hours  together  much  less 
peaceful  and  happy  than  they  ought  to  have  been.  All 
sorts  of  little  things  irritated  him  —  irritated  him  even 
in  her.  He  clung  to  her,  she  could  not  help  fancying, 
more  out  of  a  strange  instinct  of  self-preservation  than 
out  of  natural  love.  She  couldn't  help  wondering  some- 
times how  it  would  be  when  they  were  actually  mar- 
ried. He  seemed  to  find  it  at  once  difficult  to  endure 
her  society  and  impossible  to  do  without  it.  The  bit- 
ter saying  of  the  old  Latin  poet  might  have  been  his 
motto  at  that  time.  "  Nee  sine  te  nee  tecum  vivere 
possum.^' 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this,  these  early  October  days 
were  days  of  exquisite  happiness  for  Nance.  The  long 
probation  through  which  her  love  had  passed  had  purged 
and  winnowed  it.  The  maternal  instinct  in  her,  always 
the  dominant  note  in  her  emotions,  was  satisfied  now  as 
it  had  never  been  satisfied  before,  as  perhaps  unless  she 
had  children  of  her  own  it  would  never  be  satisfied  again. 

In  these  days  of  new  hope  and  new  life  her  youth 
seemed  to  revive  and  put  forth  exquisite  blossoms  of 
gaiety  and  tenderness.  In  a  physical  sense  she  actually 
did  revive,  though  this  may  have  been  partly  due  to 
the  cool  crisp  air  that  now  blew  constantly  across  the 
fens,  and  Linda,  watching  the  change  with  affectionate 
sympathy,  declared  she  was  growing  twice  as  beautiful. 

She  offered  no  objection  when  Sorio  insisted  upon 
having  their  "  bans  "  read  out  in  church,  a  duty  that 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES      35.3 

was  most  willingly  performed  without  further  delay  by 
Haniish  Trahernc.  She  did  not  even  protest  when  he 
announced  that  they  would  be  married  before  October 
was  over,  announced  it  without  any  indication  of  how 
or  where  they  would  live,  upon  whose  money  or  under 
whose  roof ! 

She  felt  a  natural  reluctance  to  press  these  practical 
details  upon  his  notice.  The  bond  that  united  them 
was  too  delicate,  too  tenuous  and  precarious,  for  her  to 
dare  to  lean  heavily  upon  it,  nor  did  the  few  hesitating 
and  tentative  hints  she  threw  out  meet  with  any  response 
from  him.  He  waved  them  aside.  He  threw  them  from 
him  with  a  jest  or  a  childish  groan  of  disgust  or  a  vague 
"  Oh,  that  will  work  itself  out.  That  will  be  all  right. 
Don't  worry  about  that!     I'm  writing  to  Baptiste." 

But,  as  we  have  said,  in  spite  of  all  these  difficulties 
and  in  spite  of  the  deep-hidden  dismay  which  his  nerv- 
ous, querulous  mood  excited  in  her,  Nance  was  full  of  a 
thrilling  and  inexpressible  happiness  during  these 
Autumn  days.  She  loved  the  roar  of  the  great  wind  — 
the  northwest  wind  —  in  chimneys  and  house-tops  at 
night.  She  loved  the  drifting  of  the  dead  leaves  along 
the  muddy  roads.  She  loved  the  long  swishing  murmur 
of  the  rushes  growing  by  the  dyke  paths  as  they  bent 
their  feathery  heads  over  the  wet  banks  or  bowed  in 
melancholy  rhythm  across  the  rain-filled  ditches. 

Autumn  was  assuredly  and  without  doubt  the  climac- 
teric season  of  the  Rodmoor  fens.  The}^  reluctantly 
yielded  to  the  Spring ;  they  endured  the  Summer,  and 
the  Winter  froze  them  into  dead  and  stoical  inertness. 
But  something  in  the  Autumn  called  out  the  essential 
and  native  qualities  of  the  place's  soul.  The  fens  rose 
to  meet  the  Autumn  in  happy   and  stormy  nuptials. 


356  RODMOOR 


The  brown,  full-brimmed  streams  mounted  up  joyously 
to  the  highest  level  of  their  muddy  banks.  The  faded 
mallow-plants  by  the  river's  side  and  the  tarnished  St. 
John's  wort  in  the  drenched  hedges  assumed  a  pathetic 
and  noble  beauty  —  a  beauty  full  of  vague,  far-drawn 
associations  for  sensitive  humanity.  The  sea-gulls  and 
marsh-birds,  the  fish,  the  eels,  the  water-rats  of  the  re- 
plenished streams  seemed  to  share  in  the  general  ex- 
pansion of  life  with  the  black  and  white  hornless  cattle, 
the  cattle  of  the  fens,  who  now  began  to  yield  their 
richest  milk.  Long,  chilly,  rainy  days  ended  in  mag- 
nificent and  sumptuous  sunsets  —  sunsets  in  which  the 
whole  sky  from  zenith  to  nadir  became  one  immense 
rose  of  celestial  fire.  Out  of  a  hundred  Rodmoor  chim- 
neys rose  the  smell  of  burning  peat,  that  smell  of  all 
others  characteristic  of  the  country  whose  very  soil  was 
formed  of  the  vegetation  of  forgotten  centuries. 

In  the  large  dark  barns  the  yellow  grain  lay  piled 
roof-high,  while  in  every  little  shed  and  outhouse  in  the 
country,  damsons,  pears  and  potatoes  lay  spread  out  as 
if  for  the  enjoyment  of  some  Dionysian  gathering  of 
the  propitiated  earth-gods. 

The  fishermen,  above  all,  shared  in  the  season's  for- 
tune, going  out  early  and  late  to  their  buoy-marked 
spots  on  the  horizon,  where  the  presence  of  certain 
year-old  wrecks  lying  on  the  sand  at  the  bottom  drew 
the  migratory  fish  and  held  them  for  weeks  as  if  by  a 
marine  spell. 

But  if  the  days  had  their  especial  quality,  the  nights 
during  that  October  were  more  significant  still.  The 
sky  seemed  to  draw  back,  back  and  away,  to  some  purer, 
clearer,  more  ethereal  level  while  with  a  radiance  tender 
and  solemn  the  greater  and  lesser  stars  shed  down  their 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES     357 

magical  influence.  The  planets,  especially  Venus  and 
Jupiter,  grew  so  luminous  and  large  that  they  seemed 
to  rival  the  moon ;  while  the  Moon,  herself,  the  mystic 
red  moon  of  the  finished  harvest,  the  moon  of  the  equi- 
nox, drew  the  tides  after  her,  higher  and  fuller  and  with 
a  deeper  note  in  their  ebb  and  flow  than  at  any  other 
season  of  the  year. 

Everywhere  swallows  were  gathering  for  their  long 
flight,  everywhere  the  wild  geese  and  the  herons  were 
rising  to  incredible  heights  in  the  sky  and  moving  north- 
ward and  westward;  and  all  this  while  Nance  was  able, 
at  last  really  able,  to  give  herself  up  to  her  passion 
for  the  man  she  loved. 

It  was  a  passion  winnowed  by  waiting  and  suffering, 
purged  to  a  pure  flame  by  all  she  had  gone  through, 
but  it  was  a  passion  none  the  less  —  a  long  exclusive 
passion  —  the  love  of  a  lifetime.  It  made  her  some- 
times, this  great  love  of  hers,  dizzy  and  faint  with  fear 
lest  something  even  now  should  at  the  last  moment  come 
between  them.  Sometimes  it  made  her  strangely  shy 
of  him  too,  shy  and  withdrawn  as  if  it  were  not  easy, 
though  so  triumphantly  sweet,  to  give  herself  up  body 
and  soul  into  hands  that  after  all  were  the  hands  of 
a  stranger ! 

Sorio  did  not  understand  all  this.  Sometimes  when 
she  thrust  him  away  as  if  the  emotion  produced  by  his 
caresses  were  more  than  she  could  bear  or  as  if  some 
incalculable  pride  in  her,  some  inalienable  chastity  be- 
yond the  power  of  her  senses,  relucted  to  yield  further, 
he  grew  angry  and  morose  and  accused  her  of  jealousy 
or  of  coldness.  This  would  have  been  harder  to  endure 
from  him  if  there  had  not  existed  all  the  while  at  the 
bottom  of  her  heart  a  strange,  maternal  pity,  a  pity 


358  RODMOOR 


not  untouched  with  a  sort  of  humorous  irony  —  the 
eternal  irony  of  the  woman  as  she  submits  to  the  eter- 
nal misunderstanding  of  the  man,  embracing  her  without 
knowing  what  he  does.  He  seemed  to  her  sometimes  in 
the  mere  physical  stress  of  his  love-making  almost  like 
an  amorous  and  vicious  boy.  She  could  not  resist  the 
consciousness  that  her  knowledge  of  the  mystery  of 
sex  —  its  depth  and  subtlety  not  less  than  its  flame  and 
intensity  —  was  something  that  went  much  further  and 
was  much  more  complicated  and  involved  with  her  whole 
being  than  anything  he  experienced.  Especially  did 
she  smile  in  her  heart  at  the  queer  way  he  had  of  tak- 
ing it  for  granted  that  he  was  "  seducing  "  her,  of  de- 
riving, it  seemed,  sometimes  a  satyrish  pleasure  from 
that  idea,  and  sometimes  a  fit  of  violent  remorse.  When 
he  was  in  either  of  these  moods  she  felt  towards  him 
precisely  as  a  mother  might  feel  towards  a  son  whose 
egoism  and  ignorance  gave  him  a  disproportioned  view 
of  the  whole  world.  And  yet,  in  actual  age,  Sorio  was 
some  twenty  years  her  senior. 

In  her  own  mind,  as  the  weeks  slipped  by  and  their 
names  had  already  been  coupled  twice  in  the  Sunday 
services,  Nance  was  taking  thought  as  to  what,  in  solid 
reality,  she  intended  to  do  with  this  child-man  of  hers 
when  the  great  moment  came.  She  must  move  from 
their  present  lodging.  That  seemed  certain.  It  also 
seemed  certain  that  Linda  would  have  still  to  go  on 
living  with  her.  Any  other  arrangement  than  that  was 
obviously  unthinkable.  But  where  should  they  live? 
And  could  she,  with  the  money  at  present  at  her  dis- 
posal, support  three  people? 

A  solution  was  found  to  both  these  problems  by  Mr. 
Traherne.     There  happened  to  exist  in  Rodmoor,  as 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES     3.50 

in  many  other  old  decaying  boroughs  on  the  east  coast, 
certain  official  positions  the  practical  service  of  which 
was  almost  extinct  but  whose  local  prestige  and  finan- 
cial emoluments,  such  as  they  were,  lingered  on  un- 
affected by  the  change  of  conditions.  Tlie  relentless 
encroachments  of  the  sea  upon  the  land  were  mainly 
responsible  for  this.  In  certain  almost  uninhabited 
villages  there  existed  official  persons  whose  real  raison 
d'etre  lay  with  the  submerged  foundations  of  former 
human  habitations,  deep  at  the  bottom  of  the  waters. 

It  was,  indeed,  one  of  the  essential  peculiarities  of 
life  upon  those  strange  sea-banks  this  sense  of  living 
on  the  edge,  as  it  were,  of  the  wave-drowned  graves  of 
one's  fathers.  It  may  have  been  the  half-conscious 
knowledge  of  this,  bred  in  their  flesh  and  blood  from 
infancy,  that  gave  to  the  natives  of  those  places  so  many 
unusual  and  unattractive  qualities.  Other  abodes  of 
men  rest  securely  upon  the  immemorial  roots  of  the 
past,  roots  that  lie,  layer  beneath  layer,  in  rich  historic 
continuity  endowing  present  usages  and  customs  with 
the  consecration  of  unbroken  tradition.  But  in  the 
villages  of  that  coast  all  this  is  diff'erent.  Tradition 
remains,  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation, 
but  the  physical  continuity  is  broken.  The  east-coast 
dwellers  resemble  certain  of  the  stellar  bodies  in  the 
celestial  spaces,  they  retain  their  identity  and  their 
names  but  they  are  driven,  in  slow  perpetual  movement, 
to  change  their  physical  position.  In  scriptural  phrase, 
they  have  no  "  abiding-place  "  nor  can  they  continue 
"  in  one  stay." 

The  fishing  boats  of  the  present  generation  set  their 
brown  sails  to  cross  the  water  where,  some  hundreds  of 
years  before,  an  earlier  generation  walked  their  cob- 


360  RODMOOR 


bled  streets.  The  storm-buoys  rock  and  ring  and  the 
boat  lanterns  burn  their  wavering  signals  over  the 
drowned  foundations  that  once  supported  Town-Hall 
and  church  tower,  Market  place  and  Village  Tavern. 
It  is  this  slow,  century-delayed  flight  from  the  invad- 
ing tide  which  so  often  produces  in  East  Anglian  coast 
towns  the  phenomenal  existence  of  two  parish  churches, 
both  it  may  be  still  in  use,  but  the  later  and  newer  one 
following  the  heart  of  the  community  in  its  enforced 
retreat.  Thus  it  is  brought  about  in  these  singular 
localities  that  the  very  law  of  the  gods,  the  law  which 
utters  to  the  elements  the  solemn  "  thus  far  and  no 
further  "  is  as  a  matter  of  fact,  daily  and  momently, 
though  with  infinite  slowness,  broken  and  defied. 

It  is  perhaps  small  wonder  that  among  the  counties 
of  England  these  particular  districts  should  have  won 
for  themselves  a  sinister  reputation  for  impiety  and 
perversity.  Nothing  so  guards  and  establishes  the 
virtue  of  a  community  than  its  sense  of  the  presence 
in  its  midst  of  the  ashes  of  its  generations.  Con- 
sciously and  in  a  thousand  pious  usages  it  "  worships 
its  dead."  But  East-Anglian  coast-dwellers  are  not 
permitted  this  privilege.  Their  "  Lares  and  Penates  " 
have  been  invaded  and  submerged.  The  fires  upon 
their  altars  have  been  drowned  and  over  the  graves  of 
their  fathers  the  godless  tides  ebb  and  flow  without 
reverence.  Fishes  swim  where  once  children  were  led 
to  the  font  and  where  lovers  were  wedded  the  wild 
cormorant  mocks  the  sea-horses  with  its  disconsolate 
cry.  It  is  easy  to  be  believed  that  the  remote  de- 
scendants of  human  beings  who  actually  walked  and 
bartered  and  loved  and  philosophized  on  spots  of 
ground  now  tangled  with  seaweed  and  sea-drift,  and 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES      361 

with  fathoms  of  moaning  and  whispering  water  above 
them,  should  come  in  their  hour  to  depart  in  a  measure 
from  the  stable  and  kindly  laws  of  human  integrity ! 
With  the  ground  thus  literally  moving  —  though  in 
age-long  process  —  under  their  feet,  how  should  they 
be  as  faithful  as  other  tribes  of  men  to  what  is  per- 
manent in  human  institution? 

There  was  perhaps  a  certain  congruity  in  the  fact 
that  now,  after  all  these  ages  of  tidal  malice,  it  was  in 
the  interests  of  so  singular  an  alien  as  Sorio  —  one 
whose  very  philosophy  was  the  philosophy  of  "  destruc- 
tion " —  that  this  lingering  on  of  offices,  whose  service 
had  been  sea-drowned,  remained  as  characteristic  of 
the  place.     But  this  is  precisely  what  did  occur. 

There  was  in  Rodmoor  a  local  official,  appointed  by 
the  local  town  council,  whose  title,  "  The  Warden  of 
the  Fishes,"  carried  the  mind  back  to  a  time  when  the 
borough,  much  larger  then,  had  been  a  considerable 
centre  of  the  fishing  industry.  This  office,  tenable  for 
life,  carried  with  it  very  few  actual  duties  now  but  it 
ensured  a  secure  though  small  emolument  and,  what 
was  more  important,  the  occupancy,  free  of  rent,  of 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  houses  in  the  place,  an  old 
pre-Elizabethan  dwelling  of  incommodious  size  but  of 
romantic  appearance,  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  har- 
bour. 

The  last  incumbent  of  this  quaint  and  historic  office, 
whose  duties  were  so  little  onerous  that  they  could  be 
performed  by  a  very  old  and  very  feeble  man,  was  a 
notable  character  of  the  village  called  John  Peewit 
Swinebitter,  whose  chief  glory  was  not  attained  until 
the  close  of  his  mortal  days,  which  ended  under  the 
table  in  the  Admiral's  Head  after  a  surfeit  of  the  very 


362  RODMOOR 


fish  of  which  he  was  "  warden  "  washed  down  by  too 
copious  libations  of  Keith-Radipole  ale. 

Since  Mr.  Swinebitter's  decease  in  June,  there  had 
gone  on  all  through  July  and  August,  a  desperate  ri- 
valry between  two  town  factions  as  to  the  choosing 
of  his  successor  and  it  was  Mr.  Traherne's  inspired 
notion  to  take  advantage  of  this  division  to  secure  the 
post  for  Nance's  prospective  husband. 

Sorio,  though  of  foreign  blood,  was  by  birth  and 
nationality  English  and  moreover  he  had  picked  up, 
during  his  stay  in  Rodnioor,  quite  as  much  familiarity 
with  the  ways  and  habits  of  fish  as  were  necessary  for 
that  easy  post.  If,  at  any  unforeseen  crisis,  more 
scientific  and  intimate  knowledge  was  required  than  was 
at  his  disposal,  there  was  always  Dr.  Raughty,  a  past 
master  in  all  such  matters,  to  whom  he  could  apply. 
It  was  Mr.  Traherne's  business  to  wheedle  the  local 
rivals  into  relinquishing  their  struggle  in  favour  of 
one  who  was  outside  the  contention  and  when  this  was 
accomplished  the  remaining  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the 
appointment  were  not  hard  to  surmount.  Luckily  for 
the  conspirators.  Brand  Renshaw,  though  the  largest 
local  landowner  and  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  was  not 
on  the  Rodmoor  council. 

So  skillfully  did  Mr.  Traherne  handle  the  matter  and 
so  cautious  and  reserved  was  Nance  that  it  was  not  till 
after  the  final  reading  of  their  bans  in  the  church  on 
the  marshes  and  the  completion  of  the  arrangements 
for  their  marriage  at  the  end  of  the  following  week, 
that  even  Baltazar  Stork  became  aware  of  what  was 
in  the  wind. 

Sorio  himself  had  been  extremely  surprised  at  this 
unexpected  favour  shown  him  by  the  local  tradesmen. 


WARDEX  OF  THE  FISHES      363 

He  had  brooded  so  long  upon  his  morbid  delusion  of 
universal  persecution  that  it  seemed  incredible  to  him, 
in  the  few  interviews  which  he  had  with  these  people, 
that  they  should  treat  him  in  so  courteous  and  kind  a 
manner.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  so  fierce  and  obstinate 
were  their  private  dissensions,  it  was  a  genuine  relief 
to  them  to  deal  with  a  person  from  outside ;  nor  must 
it  be  forgotten  that  in  the  appointment  of  Nance's  hus- 
band to  the  coveted  post  they  were  doing  honour  to 
the  memory  of  the  bride's  father,  Captain  Herrick  hav- 
ing been  by  far  the  most  popular  of  all  the  visitors  to 
Rodmoor  in  former  times.  Most  of  the  older  members 
of  the  council  could  well  remember  the  affable  sailor. 
Many  of  them  had  frequently  gone  out  fishing  with  him 
in  the  days  when  there  were  more  fish  and  rarer  fish  to 
be  caught  than  there  were  at  present  —  tliose  "  old 
days  "  in  fact  which,  in  most  remote  villages,  are  as- 
sociated with  stuffed  wonders  in  tavern  parlours  and 
with  the  quips  and  quirks  of  half-legendary  heroes  of 
Sport  and  Drink. 

It  was  a  reversion  to  such  "  old  days  "  to  have  a 
gentleman  "  Warden  of  the  Fishes."  Besides  it  was  a 
blow  at  the  Renshaws  between  whom  and  the  town- 
council  there  was  an  old  established  feud.  For  it  was 
not  hidden  from  the  gossips  of  Rodmoor  that  the  rela- 
tions between  Nance  and  the  family  at  Oakguard  were 
more  than  a  little  strained,  nor  did  the  shrewder  ones 
among  them  hesitate  to  whisper  dark  and  ominous 
hints  as  to  the  nature  of  this  estrangement. 

Baltazar  Stork  received  the  news  of  his  friend's 
approaching  marriage  with  something  like  mute  fury. 
The  morning  when  Sorio  announced  it  to  him  was  one 
of  concentrated  gloom.     The  sea  was  high  and  rough. 


364  RODMOOR 


The  wind  wailed  through  the  now  almost  leafless  syca- 
mores and  made  the  sign  which  bore  the  Admiral's  head 
creak  and  groan  in  its  iron  frame.  It  had  rained 
steadily  all  through  the  night  and  though  the  rain 
had  now  ceased  there  was  no  sun  to  dry  the  little  pools 
of  water  which  lay  in  all  the  trodden  places  in  the 
green  or  the  puddles,  choked  up  with  dead  leaves, 
which  stared  desolately  from  the  edges  of  the  road 
upon  the  sombre  heaven.  Sorio,  having  made  his  mo- 
mentous announcement  in  a  negligent,  ofF-hand  way, 
as  though  it  were  a  matter  of  small  importance,  rushed 
off  to  meet  Nance  at  the  station  and  go  with  her  to 
Mundham. 

As  it  was  Saturday  the  girl  had  no  scruple  about 
leaving  her  work.  In  any  case  she  would  have  been 
free,  with  the  rest  of  Miss  Pontifex's  employees,  in  the 
early  afternoon.  She  was  anxious  to  spend  as  long 
a  time  as  was  possible  making  her  final  purchases  pre- 
paratory to  their  taking  possession  of  Ferry  Lodge. 
The  mere  name  of  this  relic  of  Rodmoor's  faded  glory 
was  indicative  of  how  times  had  changed.  What  was 
once  an  inland  crossing  —  several  miles  from  the  shore 
—  had  now  become  the  river's  mouth  and  where  farmers 
formerly  watered  their  cattle  the  fishing  boats  spread 
their  sails  to  meet  the  sea. 

Nance  had  made  a  clean  sweep  of  the  furniture  of 
their  predecessor,  something  about  the  reputation  of 
Mr.  Peewit  Swinebitter  prejudicing  her,  in  perhaps  an 
exaggerated  manner,  against  the  buying  of  any  of  his 
things.  This  fastidiousness  on  her  part  did  not,  how- 
ever, lessen  the  material  difficulties  of  the  situation, 
Sorio  being  of  singularly  little  assistance  in  the  role 
of  a  house-furnisher. 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES      365 

Meanwhile,  with  hut  pulled  low  down  over  his  fore- 
head and  his  cane  switching  the  rain-drenched  grass, 
Baltazar  Stork  walked  up  and  down  in  front  of  his 
cottage.  He  walked  thus  until  he  was  tired  and  then 
he  came  and  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  green  and  looked 
at  his  empty  house  and  at  the  puddles  in  the  road. 
Into  the  largest  of  these  puddles  he  idly  poked  his  stick, 
stirring  the  edge  of  a  half-submerged  leaf  and  making 
it  float  across  the  muddy  water.  Children  passed  him 
unheeded,  carrying  cans  and  bottles  to  be  filled  at  the 
tavern.  Little  boys  came  up  to  him,  acquaintances  of 
his,  full  of  gaiety  and  mischief,  but  something  in  his 
face  made  them  draw  back  and  leave  him.  Never,  in 
all  his  relations  with  his  friend,  had  Baltazar  derived 
more  pleasure  from  being  with  him  than  he  had  done 
during  the  recent  weeks.  That  condition  of  helpless 
and  wistful  incompetence  which  Nance  found  so  trying 
in  Sorio  was  to  Baltazar  Stork  the  cause  of  the  most 
delicate  and  exquisite  sensations.  Never  had  he  loved 
the  man  so  well  —  never  had  he  found  him  so  fascinat- 
ing. And  now,  just  at  the  moment  when  he,  the  initi- 
ated adept  in  the  art  of  friendship,  was  reaping  the 
reward  of  his  long  patience  with  his  friend's  wayward- 
ness and  really  succeeding  in  making  him  depend  on 
him  exactly  in  the  way  he  loved  best,  there  came  this 
accursed  girl  and  carried  him  off ! 

The  hatred  which  he  felt  at  that  moment  towards 
Nance  was  so  extreme  that  it  overpowered  and  swamped 
every  other  emotion.  Baltazar  Stork  was  of  that  pe- 
culiarly constituted  disposition  which  is  able  to  hate 
the  more  savagely  and  vindicatively  because  of  the 
very  fact  that  its  normal  mood  is  one  of  urbane  and 
tolerant  indifference.     The  patient  courtesy  of  a  life- 


366  RODIMOOR 


time,  the  propitiatory  arts  of  a  long  suppression,  had 
their  revenge  just  then  for  all  they  had  made  him  en- 
dure. In  a  certain  sense  it  was  well  for  him  that  he 
could  hate.  It  was,  indeed  in  a  measure,  an  instinct  of 
self-preservation  that  led  him  to  indulge  such  a  feel- 
ing. For  below  his  hatred,  down  in  the  deeper  levels 
of  his  soul,  there  yawned  a  gulf,  the  desolating  empti- 
ness of  which  was  worse  than  death.  He  did  not  visual- 
ize this  gulf  in  the  same  concrete  manner  as  he  had 
done  on  a  previous  occasion,  but  he  was  conscious  of 
it  none  the  less.  It  was  as  a  matter  of  fact  a  thing 
that  had  been  for  long  years  hidden  obscurely  under 
the  hard,  gay  surface  of  his  days.  He  covered  it  over 
by  one  distraction  or  the  other.  Its  remote  presence 
had  given  an  added  intensity  to  his  zest  for  the  various 
little  pleasures,  aesthetic  or  otherwise,  which  it  was  his 
habit  to  enjoy.  It  had  done  more.  It  had  reduced 
to  comparative  insignificance  the  morbid  vexations  and 
imaginative  reactions  from  which  his  friend  suffered. 
He  could  afford  to  appear  hard  and  crystal-cold,  ca- 
pable of  facing  with  equanimity  every  kind  of  ultimate 
horror.  And  he  was  capable  of  facing  such.  Under 
the  shadow  of  a  thing  like  that  —  a  thing  beyond  the 
worst  of  insane  obsessions,  for  his  mind  was  cruelly 
clear  as  he  turned  his  eyes  inward  —  he  was  able  to 
look  contemptuously  into  the  Gorgon  face  of  any  kind 
of  terror.  When  he  chose  he  could  always  see  the 
thing  as  it  was,  see  it  as  the  desolation  of  emptiness, 
as  a  deep,  frozen  space,  void  of  sound  or  movement  or 
life  or  hope  or  end.  There  was  not  the  least  tinge  of 
insanity  in  the  vision. 

What  he  was  permitted  to  see,  by  reason  of  some 
malign  clarity  of  intellect  denied  to  the  majority  of 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES      3G7 

his  fellows,  was  simply  the  real  truth  of  life,  its  frozen 
chemistry  and  deadly  purposelessness.  Most  men  vis- 
ualize existence  through  a  blurring  cloud  of  personal 
passion,  either  erotic  or  imaginative.  They  suffer, 
but  they  suffer  from  illusion.  What  separated  Bal- 
tazar  from  the  majority  was  his  power  of  seeing  things 
in  absolute  colourlessness  —  unconfused  by  any  sort  of 
distorting  mirage.  Thus  what  he  saw  with  his  soul 
was  the  ghastly  loneliness  of  his  soul.  He  saw  this 
frozen,  empty,  hollow  space  and  he  saw  it  as  the  nat- 
ural country  in  which  his  soul  dwelt,  its  unutterable 
reality,  its  appalling  truth.  That  was  why  no  thought 
of  suicide  ever  came  to  him.  The  thing  was  too  deep. 
He  might  kill  himself,  but  in  so  doing  he  would  only 
destroy  the  few  superficial  distractions  that  afforded 
him  a  temporary  freedom.  For  suicide  would  only 
fling  him  —  that  at  least  is  what,  with  horrible  clarity, 
he  had  come  to  feel  about  it  —  into  the  depths  of  his 
soul,  into  the  very  abyss,  that  is  to  say,  which  he 
escaped  by  living  on  the  surface.  It  was  a  kind  of 
death-in-life  that  he  was  conscious  of,  below  his  crystal- 
line amenities,  but  one  does  not  fly  to  death  to  escape 
from  death. 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  how  laughable  to  him  were 
all  Sorio's  neurotic  reactions  from  people  and  things. 
People  and  things  were  precisely  what  Baltazar  clung 
to,  to  avoid  that  "  frozen  sea  "  lying  there  at  the  back 
of  everything.  It  will  be  easily  imagined  too,  how  ab- 
surd to  him  —  how  fantastic  and  imrcal  —  were  the 
various  hints  and  glimpses  which  Sorio  had  permitted 
him  into  what  his  friend  called  his  "  philosophy  of  de- 
struction." To  make  a  "  philosophy  "  out  of  a  strug- 
gle to  reach  the  ultimate  horror  of  that  "  frozen  sea," 


368  RODMOOR 


how  lamentably  pathetic  it  was,  and  how  childish ! 
No  sane  person  would  contemplate  such  a  thing  and 
the  attempt  proved  that  Sorio  was  not  sane.  As  for 
the  Italian's  vague  and  prophetic  suggestions  with  re- 
gard to  the  possibility  of  something  —  philosophers 
always  spoke  of  "  something  "  when  they  approached 
nothing !  —  beyond  "  what  we  call  life  "  that  seemed 
to  Baltazar's  mind  mere  poetic  balderdash  and  moon- 
struck mysticism.  But  he  had  always  listened  pa- 
tiently to  Sorio's  incoherences.  The  man  would  not 
have  been  himself  without  his  mad  philosophy !  It  was 
part  of  that  charming  weakness  in  him  that  appealed 
to  Baltazar  so.  It  was  absurd,  of  course  —  this  whole 
business  of  writing  philosophic  books  —  but  he  was 
ready  to  pardon  it,  ready  to  listen  all  night  and  day 
to  his  friend's  dithyrambic  diatribes,  as  long  as  they 
brought  that  particular  look  of  exultation  which  he 
found  so  touching  into  his  classic  face ! 

This  "  look  of  exultation  "  in  Sorio's  features  had 
indeed  been  accompanied  during  the  last  month  by  an 
expression  of  wistful  and  bewildered  helplessness  and 
it  was  just  the  union  of  these  two  things  that  Baltazar 
found  so  irresistibly  appealing.  He  was  drawn  closer 
to  Adrian,  in  fact,  during  these  Autumn  days,  than  he 
had  ever  been  drawn  to  any  one.  And  it  was  just  at 
this  moment,  just  when  he  was  happiest  in  their  life 
together,  that  Nance  Herrick  must  needs  obtrude  her 
accursed  feminine  influence  and  with  this  result !  So 
he  gave  himself  up  without  let  or  hindrance  to  his 
hatred  of  this  girl.  His  hatred  was  a  cold,  calcu- 
lated, deliberate  thing,  clear  of  all  volcanic  disturb- 
ances but,  such  as  it  was,  it  possessed  him  at  that  mo- 


WARDEX  OF  THE  FISHES      369 

ment  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  He  imagined 
to  himself  now,  as  with  the  end  of  his  stick  he  guided 
that  sycamore  leaf  across  the  puddle,  how  Nance  would 
buy  those  things  in  the  Mundham  shops  and  what 
pleasure  there  would  be  in  her  grey  eyes,  that  peculiar 
pleasure  unlike  anything  else  in  the  world  which  a 
woman  has  when  she  is  indulging,  at  the  same  moment, 
her  passion  for  domestic  detail  and  her  passion  for  her 
lover ! 

He  saw  the  serene  possessive  look  in  her  face,  the 
look  of  one  who  at  last,  after  long  waiting,  arrives 
within  sight  of  the  desired  end.  He  saw  the  little  out- 
bursts of  girlish  humour  —  oh,  he  knew  them  so  well, 
those  outbursts  !  —  and  he  saw  the  fits  of  half-assumed, 
half-natural  shyness  that  would  come  over  her  and 
the  soft,  dreamy  tenderness  in  her  eyes,  as  together 
with  Adrian,  she  bought  this  thing  or  the  other,  full 
of  delicate  association,  for  their  new  dwelling-place. 
His  imagination  went  even  further.  He  seemed  to 
hear  her  voice  as  she  spoke  sympathetically,  pityingly, 
of  himself.  She  would  be  sure  to  do  that !  It  would 
come  so  prettily  from  her  just  then  and  would  appeal 
so  much  to  Adrian !  She  would  whisper  to  him  over 
their  lunch  in  some  little  shop  —  he  saw  all  that  too  — 
of  how  sad  she  felt  to  be  taking  him  away  from  his  old 
friend  and  leaving  that  friend  alone.  And  he  could  see 
the  odd  bewildered  smile,  half-remorseful  and  half-joy- 
ful with  which  Sorio  would  note  that  disinterested 
sympathy  and  think  to  himself  what  a  noble  affectionate 
creature  she  was  and  how  lucky  he  was  to  win  her. 
He  saw  how  careful  she  would  be  not  to  tire  him  or 
tease  him  with  her  purchases,  how  she  would  probably 


370  RODMOOR 


vary  the  tedium  of  the  day  with  some  pleasant  little 
strolls  together  round  the  Abbey  grounds  or  perhaps 
down  by  the  wharves  and  the  barges- 
Yes,  she  had  won  her  victory.  She  was  gathering 
up  her  spoils.  She  was  storing  up  her  possessions ! 
Could  any  human  feeling,  he  asked  himself  with  a 
deadly  smile  upon  his  lips,  be  more  sickeningly,  more 
achingly,  intense  than  the  hatred  he  felt  for  this  nor- 
mal, natural,  loving  woman? 

He  swept  his  stick  through  the  muddy  water,  splash- 
ing it  vindictively  on  all  sides  and  then,  moving  into 
the  middle  of  the  road,  looked  at  his  empty  cottage. 
Here,  then,  he  would  have  to  live  again  alone!  Alone 
with  himself,  alone  with  his  soul,  alone  with  the  truth 
of  life ! 

No,  it  was  too  much.  He  never  would  submit  to 
it.  Better  swallow  at  once  and  without  more  non- 
sense the  little  carefully  concocted  draught  which  he 
had  long  kept  under  lock  and  key !  After  all  he  would 
have  to  come  to  that,  sooner  or  later.  He  had  long 
since  made  up  his  mind  that  if  things  and  persons  — 
the  "  things  and  persons  "  he  used  as  his  daily  drug, 
failed  him  or  lost  their  savour  he  would  take  the  ir- 
revocable step  and  close  the  whole  farce.  Everything 
was  the  same.  Everything  was  equal.  He  would  only 
move  one  degree  nearer  the  central  horror  —  the  great 
ice  field  of  eternity  —  the  plain  without  end  or  begin- 
ning, frozen  and  empty,  empty  and  frozen !  He  stared 
at  his  cottage  windows.  No,  it  was  unthinkable,  be- 
ginning life  over  again  without  Adrian.  A  hundred 
little  things  plucked  at  random  from  the  sweet  monotony 
of  their  days  together  came  drifting  through  his  mind. 
The  peculiar  look  Adrian  had  when  he  first  woke  in 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES     371 

the  morning — the  savage  greediness  with  which  he 
would  devour  honey  and  brown  bread  —  the  pleading, 
broken,  childlike  tones  in  his  voice  when,  after  some 
quarrel  between  them  he  begged  his  friend  to  forgive 
him  —  all  these  things  and  many  others,  came  pouring 
in  upon  him  in  a  great  wave  of  miserable  self-pity. 
No  —  she  should  not  win.  She  should  not  triumph. 
She  should  not  enjo}'  the  fruits  of  her  victory  —  the 
strong  feminine  animal !  He  would  sooner  kill  her  and 
then  kill  himself  to  avoid  the  gallows.  But  killing  was 
a  silly  futile  kind  of  revenge.  Infants  in  the  art  of 
hatred  killed  their  enemies !  But  at  any  rate,  if  he 
killed  her  she  would  never  settle  down  in  her  nice  new 
house  with  her  dear  husband !  But  then,  on  the  other 
hand,  she  would  be  the  winner  to  the  end.  She  would 
never  feel  as  he  was  feeling  now ;  she  would  never  look 
into  his  eyes  and  know  that  he  knew  he  had  beaten  her ; 
he  would  never  see  her  disappointment.  No  —  killing 
was  a  stupid,  melodramatic,  blundering  way  out  of  it. 
Artists  ought  to  have  a  subtler  imagination !  Well, 
something  must  be  done,  and  done  soon.  He  felt  he 
did  not  care  what  suffering  he  caused  Sorio,  the  more 
he  suffered  the  better,  if  only  he  could  see  the  look  in 
those  grey  eyes  of  Nance  that  confessed  she  was  de- 
feated ! 

Quite  quietly,  quite  calmly,  he  gathered  together  all 
the  forces  of  his  nature  to  accomplish  this  one  end. 
His  hatred  rose  to  the  level  of  a  passion.  He  vowed 
that  nothing  should  make  him  pause,  no  scruple,  no 
obstacle,  until  he  saw  that  beaten  look  in  Nance's  face. 
Like  all  dominant  obsessions,  like  all  great  lusts,  his 
purpose  associated  itself  with  a  clear  concrete  image, 
the  image  of  the  girl's  expression  when  at  last,  face  to 


372  RODMOOR 


face  with  him,  she  knew  herself  broken,  helpless  and  at 
his  mercy. 

He  walked  swiftly  down  the  High  Street,  crossed  the 
open  space  by  the  harbour  and  made  his  way  to  the 
edge  of  the  waves.  Surely  that  malignant  tide  would 
put  some  triumphant  idea  into  his  brain.  The  sea  — 
the  sterile,  unharvested  sea  —  had  from  the  beginning 
of  the  world,  been  tlie  enemy  of  woman !  Warden  of 
the  Fishes !  He  laughed  as  he  thought  of  Sorio's  as- 
suming such  a  title. 

"  Not  yet,  my  friend  —  not  quite  yet ! "  he  mur- 
mured, gazing  across  the  stormy  expanse  of  water. 
Warden  of  the  Fishes !  With  a  strong,  sweet,  affec- 
tionate wife  to  look  after  him?  "No,  no,  Adriano !  " 
he  cried  hoarsely,  "  we  haven't  come  to  that  yet  —  we 
haven't  come  to  that  quite  yet ! " 

By  some  complicated,  psychological  process  he 
seemed  to  be  aware,  as  he  stared  at  the  foaming  sea- 
horses, of  the  head  of  his  mute  friend  Flambard  float- 
ing, amid  the  mist  of  his  own  woman-like  hair,  in  the 
green  hollows  of  the  surf.  He  found  himself  vaguely 
wondering  what  he  —  the  super-subtle  Venetian  — 
would  have  done  had  he  been  "  fooled  to  the  top  of 
his  bent  "  by  a  girl  like  Nance  —  had  he  been  betrayed 
in  his  soul's  deepest  passion.  And  all  at  once  it  came 
over  him,  not  distinctly  and  vividly  but  obscurely  and 
remotely  as  if  through  a  cloudy  vapour  from  a  long 
way  off,  from  far  down  the  vistas  of  time  itself,  what 
Flambard  would  have  done. 

He  stooped  and  picked  up  a  long  leather-like  thong 
of  wet,  slippery  seaweed  and  caressed  it  with  his  hands. 
At  that  moment  there  passed  through  him  a  most  curi- 
ous sensation  —  the  sensation  that  he  had  himself  —  he 


WARDEN  OF  THE  FISHES      373 

and  not  Flambard  —  stood  just  in  this  way  but  by  a 
different  sea,  ages,  centuries  ago  —  and  had  arrived 
at  the  same  conclusion.  The  sensation  vanished 
quickly  enough  and  with  it  the  image  of  Flambard,  but 
the  idea  of  what  remained  for  him  to  do  still  hovered 
like  a  cloud  at  the  back  of  his  mind.  He  did  not  drag 
it  forth  from  its  hiding  place.  He  never  definitely  ac- 
cepted it.  The  thing  was  so  dark  and  hideous,  be- 
longing so  entirely  to  an  age  when  "  passional  crimes  " 
were  more  common  and  more  remorseless  than  at  the 
present,  that  even  Baltazar  with  all  the  frozen  malice 
of  his  hate  scrupled  to  visualize  it  in  the  daylight. 
But  he  did  not  drive  it  away.  He  permitted  it  to  work 
upon  him  and  dominate  him.  It  was  as  though  some 
"  other  Baltazar "  from  a  past  as  remote  as  Flam- 
bard's  own  and  perhaps  far  remoter  —  had  risen  up 
within  him  in  answer  to  that  cry  to  the  inhuman  wa- 
ters. The  actual  working  of  his  mind  was  very  com- 
plicated and  involved  at  that  moment.  There  were  mo- 
ments of  wavering  —  moments  of  drawing  back  into 
the  margin  of  uncertainty.  But  these  moments  grew 
constantly  less  and  less  effective.  Beyond  everything 
else  that  definite  image  of  Nance's  grey  eyes,  full  of 
infinite  misery,  confessing  her  defeat,  and  even  plead- 
ing with  him  for  mercy,  drove  these  wavering  moments 
away.  It  was  worth  it,  any  horror  was  worth  it,  to 
satiate  his  revenge  by  the  sight  of  what  her  expression 
would  be  as  he  looked  into  her  face  then.  And,  after 
all,  the  thing  he  projected  would  in  any  case,  come 
about  sooner  or  later.  It  was  on  its  way.  The  des- 
tinies called  for  it.  The  nature  of  life  demanded  it. 
The  elements  conspired  to  bring  it  about.  The  man's 
own   fatality  was   already  with  a  kind   of  vehemence, 


374  RODMOOR 


rushing  headlong  —  under  the  fall  of  these  Autumn 
rains  and  the  drifting  of  these  Autumn  leaves  —  to 
meet  it  and  embrace  it !  All  he  would  have  to  do  him- 
self would  be  just  to  give  the  wheel  of  fate  the  least 
little  push,  the  least  vibration  of  an  impulse  forward, 
with  his  lightest  finger ! 

Perhaps,  as  far  as  his  friend  was  concerned,  he  would 
really,  in  this  way,  be  saving  him  in  the  larger  issue. 
Were  Adrian's  mind,  for  instance,  to  break  down  now 
at  once,  rendering  it  necessary  that  he  should  be  put, 
as  they  say  in  that  appalling  phrase,  "  under  re- 
straint," it  might  as  a  matter  of  fact,  save  his  brain 
from  ultimate  and  final  disaster.  It  is  true  that  this 
aspect  of  what  he  projected  was  too  fantastic,  too 
ironically  distorted,  to  be  dwelt  upon  clearly  or  log- 
ically but  it  came  and  went  like  a  shadowy  bird  hover- 
ing about  a  floating  carcass,  round  the  outskirts  of  his 
unspeakable  intention.  What  he  reverted  to  more 
articulately,  as  he  made  his  way  back  across  the  lit- 
tered sand-heaps  to  the  entrance  of  the  harbour,  was 
the  idea  that,  after  all,  he  would  only  be  precipitating 
an  inevitable  crisis.  His  friend  was  already  on  the 
verge  of  an  attack  of  monomania,  if  not  of  actual  in- 
sanity. Sooner  or  later  the  thing  must  come  to  a 
definite  climax.  Why  not  anticipate  events,  then,  and 
let  the  climax  occur  when  it  would  save  him  from  this 
intolerable  folly  —  worse  than  madness  —  of  giving 
himself  up  to  his  feminine  pursuer.?  As  he  made  his 
way  once  more  through  the  crowded  little  street,  the 
fixed  and  final  impression  all  these  thoughts  left  upon 
his  mind  was  the  impression  of  Nance  Herrick's  face, 
pale,  vanquished  and  helpless,  staring  up  at  him  from 
the  ground  beneath  his  feet. 


XXIV 

THE  TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER 

BALTAZAR  was  not  long  in  carrying  out  what, 
in  bitter  self-colloquy,  he  called  his  Flambardian 
campaign.  He  deliberately  absented  himself 
from  his  work  in  the  Mundham  office  and  gave  up  all 
his  time  to  Sorio.  He  now  encouraged  this  latter  in 
all  his  most  dangerous  manias,  constantly  leading  the 
conversation  round  to  what  he  knew  were  exciting  and 
agitating  topics  and  bringing  him  back  again  and 
again  to  especial  points  of  irritation  and  annoyance. 

The  days  quickly  passed,  however,  and  Adrian, 
though  in  a  strange  and  restless  mood,  had  still,  in  no 
public  manner,  given  evidence  of  insanity,  and  short, 
of  course,  of  some  such  public  manifestation,  his 
treacherous  friend's  plan  of  having  him  put  under  re- 
straint, fell  to  the  ground. 

Meanwhile,  Nance's  preparations  for  her  marriage 

and  for  their  entrance  into  their  new  home  advanced 

towards  completion.     It  was  within  three  days  of  the 

date  decided  upon  for  their  wedding  when  Nance,  who 

had  had  less  time  recently  at  her  disposal  for  watching 

her  sister's  moods,  came  suddenly  to  the  conclusion, 

as,  on  a  wild  and  stormy  afternoon,  she  led  her  home 

from  the  church,  that  something  was  seriously  wrong. 

At  first,  as  they  left  the  churchyard  and  began  making 

their  way  towards  the  bridge,  she  thought  the  gloom 

of  the  evening  was  a  sufficient  reason  for  Linda's  de- 

375 


376  RODINIOOR 


spairing  silence,  but  as  they  advanced,  with  the  wind 
beating  in  their  faces  and  the  roar  of  the  sea  coming 
to  them  over  the  dunes,  she  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  cause  lay  deeper. 

But  that  night  —  it  was  the  twenty-eighth  of  Octo- 
ber —  was  certainly  desolate  enough  to  be  the  cause  of 
any  human  being's  depression.  The  sun  was  sinking 
as  the  sisters  started  for  their  walk  home.  A  blood- 
red  streak,  jagged  and  livid,  like  the  mutilated  back 
of  some  bleeding  monster,  lay  low  down  over  the  fens. 
The  wind  wailed  in  the  poplars,  whistled  through  the 
reeds,  and  sighed  in  long  melancholy  gasps  like  the  sob- 
bing of  some  unhappy  earth-spirit  across  the  dykes 
and  the  ditches.  One  by  one  a  few  flickering  lamps 
appeared  among  the  houses  of  the  town  as  the  girls 
drew  near  the  river,  but  the  long  wavering  lines  of 
light  thrown  by  these  across  the  meadows  only  increased 
the  general  gloom. 

"  Don't  let's  cross  at  once,"  said  Linda  suddenly, 
when  they  reached  the  bridge.  "  Let's  walk  along  the 
bank  —  just  a  little  way!  I  feel  excited  and  queer  to- 
night. I've  been  in  the  church  so  long.  Please  let's 
stay  out  a  little." 

Nance  thought  it  better  to  agree  to  the  child's  ca- 
price; though  the  river-bank  at  that  particular  hour 
was  dark  with  a  strange  melancholy.  They  left  the 
road  and  walked  slowly  along  the  tow-path  in  the  di- 
rection away  from  the  town.  A  group  of  cattle  stand- 
ing huddled  together  near  the  path,  rushed  off  into  the 
middle  of  the  field. 

The  waters  of  the  Loon  were  high  —  the  tide  flowing 
seaward  —  and  here  and  there  from  the  windows  of 
some    scattered   houses    on    the    opposite    bank,    faint 


TWEXTY-EIGHTII  OF  OCTOBER    377 

lights  were  reHected  upon  the  river's  surface.  A 
strong  smell  of  seaweed  and  brackish  mud  came  up  to 
them  from  the  dark  stream. 

"  What  secrets,"  said  Linda  suddenly,  "  this  old 
Loon  could  tell,  if  it  could  speak!  I  call  it  a  haunted 
river." 

Nance's  only  reply  to  this  was  to  pull  her  sister's 
cloak  more  tightly  round  her  shoulders. 

"  I  don't  mean  in  the  sense  of  having  drowned  so 
many  people,"  Linda  went  on,  "  I  mean  in  the  sense  of 
being  half-human  itself." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  her  mouth  when  a 
slender  dusky  figure  that  had  been  leaning  against  the 
edge  of  one  of  the  numerous  weirs  that  connect  the 
river-tides  with  the  streams  of  the  water-meadows,  came 
suddenly  towards  them  and  revealed  herself  as  Philippa 
Renshaw. 

Both  the  girls  drew  back  in  instinctive  alarm.  Nance 
was  the  first  to  recover. 

"  So  you  too  are  out  to-night,"  she  said.  "  Linda 
got  so  tired  of  practising,  so  we  — " 

Philippa  interrupted  her :  "  Since  we  hate  met, 
Nance  Herrick,  there's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  talk 
a  little.  Or  do  you  think  the  people  about  here  would 
find  that  an  absurd  thing  for  us  to  do,  as  we're  both 
in  love  with  the  same  man,  and  you're  going  to  marry 
him?" 

She  uttered  these  words  so  calmly  and  in  so  strange 
a  voice  that  Nance  for  the  moment  was  too  startled  to 
reply.  She  recovered  herself  quickly,  however,  and 
taking  Linda  by  the  arm,  made  as  if  she  would  pass  her 
by,  without  further  speech.  But  Philippa  refused  to 
permit  this.     With  the  slow  dramatic  movement  always 


378  RODMOOR 


characteristic  of  her,  she  stepped  into  the  middle  of  the 
path  and  stopped  them.  Linda,  at  this,  hung  back, 
trying  to  draw  her  sister  away. 

The  two  women  faced  one  another  in  breathless  si- 
lence. It  was  too  dark  for  them  to  discern  more  than 
the  vaguest  outlines  of  each  other's  features,  but  they 
were  each  conscious  of  the  extreme  tension,  which,  like 
a  wave  of  magnetic  force,  at  once  united  and  divided 
them.     Nance  was  the  first  to  break  the  spell. 

"  I'm  surprised,"  she  said,  "  to  hear  you  speak  of 
love.  I  thought  you  considered  all  that  sort  of  thing 
sentimental  and  idiotic." 

Philippa's  hand  went  up  in  a  quick  and  desperate 
gesture,  almost  an  imploring  one. 

"  Miss  Herrick,"  she  whispered  in  a  very  low  and 
very  clear  tone,  "  you  needn't  do  that.  You  needn't 
say  those  things.  You  needn't  hurt  me  more  than  is 
necessary." 

"  Come  away,  Nance.  Oh,  please  come  away  and 
leave  her!"  interjected  Linda. 

"  Miss  Herrick,  listen  to  me  one  moment !  "  Philippa 
continued,  speaking  so  low  as  almost  to  be  inaudible. 
"  I  have  something  to  ask  of  you,  something  that  you 
can  do  for  me.  It  isn't  very  much.  It  isn't  anything 
that  you  need  suspect.  It  is  a  little  thing.  It's  noth- 
ing you  could  possibly  mind." 

"  Don't  listen  to  her,  Nance,"  cried  Linda  again. 
"  Don't  listen  to  her." 

Philippa's  voice  trembled  as  she  went  on,  "  I  beg  you, 
I  beg  you  on  my  knees  to  hear  me.  We  two  may  never 
meet  again  after  this.  Nance  Herrick,  will  you,  will 
you  let  me  speak?  " 

Linda  leapt  forward.     She  was  shaking  from  head 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER    379 

to  f(j^ot  witli  fuar  and  anger.  "  No,"  she  cried,  "  she 
sliall  not  listen  to  you.     She  shall  not,  she  shall  not." 

Nance  hesitated,  weary  and  sick  at  heart.  She  had 
so  hoped  and  prayed  that  all  these  lacerating  contests 
were  over  and  done  with. 

Finally  she  said,  "  I  think  you  must  see,  you  must 
feel,  that  between  you  and  me  there  can  be  nothing  — 
nothing  more  —  nothing  further.  I  think  you'll  be 
wise,  I  think  you'll  recognize  it  afterwards,  to  let  me 
go  now,  to  let  me  go  and  leave  us  alone."  As  she  spoke 
she  drew  away  from  her  and  put  her  arm  round  Linda's 
waist.  "  In  any  case,",  she  added,  "  I  can't  possibly 
hear  you  before  this  child.  Perhaps,  but  I  can't  prom- 
ise anything,  but  perhaps,  some  other  day,  when  I'm 
by  myself." 

She  gave  one  sad,  half-sympathetic,  half-reproachful 
glance,  at  the  frail  shadowy  figure  standing  mute  and 
silent;  and  then  turning  quickly,  let  herself  be  led  away. 

Linda  swung  round  when  they  were  some  few  paces 
away.  "  She'll  never  listen  to  you !  "  She  called  out, 
in  a  shrill  vibrating  voice,  "  I  won't  ever  let  her  listen 
to  you." 

The  growing  darkness,  made  thicker  b}^  the  river- 
mists,  closed  in  between  them,  and  in  a  brief  while  their 
very  footsteps  ceased  to  be  heard.  Philippa  was  left 
alone.  She  looked  round  her.  On  the  fen  side  of  the 
pathway  there  was  nothing  but  a  thick  fluctuating 
shadow,  out  of  which  the  forms  of  a  few  pollard-willows 
rose  like  panic-stricken  ghosts.  On  the  river  itself 
there  shimmered  at  intervals  a  faint  whitish  gleam  as 
if  some  lingering  relics  of  the  vanished  day,  slow  in 
their  drowning,  struggled  to  rise  to  the  surface. 

She  moved  back  again  to  the  place  where  she  had 


380  RODMOOR 


been  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  weir.  Leaning  upon 
the  time-worn  plank  rotten  with  autumn  rains,  she  gazed 
down  into  the  dense  blackness  beneath.  Nothing  could 
be  seen  but  darkness.  She  might  have  been  looking 
down  into  some  unfathomable  pit,  leading  to  the  cav- 
erns of  the  mid-earth. 

A  deathly  cold  wave  of  damp  air  met  her  face  as  she 
leaned  over  the  plank,  and  a  hollow  gurgling  roar,  from 
the  heavy  volume  of  water  swirling  in  the  darkness, 
rose  to  her  ears.  She  could  smell  the  unseen  water ; 
and  the  smell  of  it  was  like  the  smell  of  dead  black 
leaves  plucked  forth  from  a  rain  pool  in  the  heart  of  a 
forest. 

As  she  leaned  forward  with  her  soft  breast  pressing 
against  the  wooden  bar  and  her  long  slender  fingers 
clutching  its  edge,  a  sinister  line  of  poetry,  picked  up 
somewhere  —  she  could  not  recall  where  —  came  into 
her  mind,  and  she  found  her  lips  mechanically  echoing 
it.  "  Like  a  wolf,  sucked  under  a  weir,"  the  line  ran, 
and  over  and  over  again  she  repeated  those  words. 

Meanwhile  Nance,  as  they  returned  across  the  bridge, 
did  her  best  to  soothe  and  quiet  her  sister.  The  sud- 
den appearance  of  Philippa  seemed  to  have  thrown  the 
girl  into  a  paroxysm  of  frenzy.  "  Oh,  how  I  hate 
her ! "  she  kept  crying  out,  "  oh,  how  I  loathe  and  hate 
her ! " 

Nance  was  perplexed  and  bewildered  by  Linda's  mood. 
Never  had  she  known  the  girl  to  give  way  to  feelings 
of  this  sort.  When  at  last  she  got  her  into  their  house, 
and  had  seen  her  take  ofF  her  things  and  begin  tidying 
herself  up  for  their  evening  meal  quite  in  her  accus- 
tomed way,  she  asked  her  point-blank  what  was  the 
matter,  and  why  to-day,  on  this  twenty-eighth  of  Octo- 


TWENTY-ETGIITTT  OF  OCTOBER     381 

ber,  she  had  suddenly  grown  different  from  her  ordinary 
self. 

Linda,  standing  with  bare  arms  by  the  mirror  and 
passing  a  comb  through  her  heavy  hair,  turned  almost 
fiercely  round. 

"Do  you  want  to  know?  Do  you  really  want  to 
know?"  she  cried,  throwing  back  her  head  and  hold- 
ing the  hair  back  with  her  hands.  "  It's  because  of  Phi- 
lippa  that  he  has  deserted  me !  It's  because  of  Philippa 
that  he  hasn't  seen  me  nor  spoken  to  me  for  a  whole 
month !  It's  because  of  Philippa  that  he  won't  answer 
my  letters  and  won't  meet  me  anA^where !  It's  because 
of  Philippa  that  now  —  now  when  I  most  want  him  " — 
and  she  threw  the  comb  do^vIl  and  flung  herself  on  her 
bed  — "  he  refuses  to  come  to  me  or  to  speak  a  word." 

"  How  do  you  know  it's  because  of  Philippa?  "  Nance 
asked,  distressed  be^^ond  words  to  find  that  in  spite  of 
all  her  efforts  Linda  was  still  as  obsessed  by  Brand  as 
ever  before. 

"  I  know  from  him,"  the  girl  replied.  "  You  needn't 
ask  me  any  more.  She's  got  power  over  him,  and  she 
uses  it  against  me.  If  it  wasn't  for  her  he'd  have  mar- 
ried me  before  now."  She  sat  up  on  the  edge  of  her 
bed  and  looked  woefully  at  her  sister  with  large  sunken 
eyes.  "  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  if  it  wasn't  for  her  he'd 
marry  me  now  —  to-day  —  and,  oh,  Nance,  I  want 
him  so  !     I  want  him  so  !  " 

Nance  felt  an  oppressive  weight  of  miserable  help- 
lessness in  the  presence  of  this  heart-stricken  cry.  As 
she  looked  round  the  room  and  saw  her  various  prepa- 
rations for  leaving  it  and  for  securing  the  happiness 
of  her  own  love,  she  felt  as  though  in  some  subtle  way 
she  had  once  more  betrayed  the  unhappy  child.     She 


382  RODMOOR 


knew  herself,  only  too  well,  what  that  famished  and 
starving  longing  is  —  that  cry  of  the  flesh  and  blood, 
and  the  heart  and  the  spirit,  for  what  the  eternal  des- 
tinies have  put  out  of  our  reach ! 

And  she  could  do  nothing  to  help  her.  What  could 
she  do  ?  Now  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  as  she  looked 
at  that  lamentable  youthful  figure,  dumbly  pleading 
with  her  for  some  kind  of  miracle,  Nance  was  conscious 
of  a  vague  unformulated  indignation  against  the  whole 
system  of  things  that  rendered  this  sort  of  suffering 
possible.  If  only  she  were  a  powerful  and  a  tender 
deity,  how  she  would  hasten  to  end  this  whole  business 
of  sex-life  which  made  existence  so  intolerable!  Why 
could  not  people  be  born  into  the  world  like  trees  or 
plants?  And  being  born,  why  could  not  love  instinc- 
tively create  the  answering  passion  it  craved,  and  not 
be  left  to  beat  itself  against  cruel  walls,  after  scorching 
itself  in  the  irresistible  flame? 

"  Nance  !  "  said  the  young  girl  suddenly.  "  Nance  ! 
Come  here.  Come  over  to  me.  I  want  to  tell  you 
something." 

The  elder  sister  obeyed.  It  was  not  long  —  for  hard 
though  it  may  be  to  break  silence,  these  things  are 
quickly  spoken  —  before  she  knew  the  worst.  Linda, 
with  her  arms  clutched  tightly  round  her,  and  her  face 
hidden,  confessed  that  she  was  with  child. 

Nance  leapt  to  her  feet.  "  I'll  go  to  him,"  she  cried, 
"  I'll  go  to  him  at  once !  Of  course  he  must  marry  you 
now.  He  must!  He  must!  I'll  go  to  him.  I'll  go 
to  Hamish.  I'll  go  to  Adrian  —  to  Fingal  1  He  must 
marry  you,  Linda.  Don't  cry,  little  one.  I'll  make  it 
all  right.  It  shall  be  all  right!  I'll  go  to  him  this 
very  evening." 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER    383 

A  faint  flush  appeared  in  Linda's  pale  cheeks  and 
a  glimmer  of  hope  in  her  eyes.  "  Do  you  think,  pos- 
sibly, that  there's  any  chance?  Can  there  be  any 
chance?  But  no,  no,  darling,  I  know  there's  none  —  I 
know  there's  none." 

"What  makes  you  so  sure,  Linda?"  asked  Nance, 
rapidly  changing  her  dress,  and  as  she  did  so  pouring 
herself  out  a  glass  of  milk. 

"  It's  Philippa,"  murmured  the  other  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Oh,  how  I  hate  her !  How  I  hate  her !  "  she  contin- 
ued, in  a  sort  of  moaning  refrain,  twisting  her  long  hair 
between  her  fingers  and  tying  the  ends  of  it  into  a  lit- 
tle knot. 

"  Well,  I'm  off,  my  dear,"  cried  Nance  at  length, 
finishing  her  glass  of  milk  and  adjusting  her  hat-pins. 
"  I'm  going  straight  to  find  him.  I  may  pick  up  Ad- 
rian on  the  way,  or  I  may  not.  It  rather  depends. 
And  I  may  have  a  word  or  two  with  Philippa.  The 
chances  are  that  I  shall  overtake  her  if  I  go  now.  She 
can't  have  waited  much  longer  doAvn  by  the  river." 

Linda  rushed  up  to  her  and  clasped  her  in  her  arms. 
"  My  own  darling !  "  she  murmured,  "  how  good  you 
are  to  me  —  how  good  you  are !  Do  you  know,  I  was 
afraid  to  tell  you  this  —  afraid  that  you'd  be  angry 
and  ashamed  and  not  speak  to  me  for  days.  But,  oh, 
Nance,  I  do  love  him  so  much !  I  love  him  more  than 
my  life  —  more  than  my  life  even  now!  " 

Nance  kissed  her  tenderly.  "  Make  yourself  some 
tea,  my  darling,  won't  you?  We'll  have  supper  when- 
ever I  come  back,  and  that'll  be  —  I  hope  —  with  good 
news  for  you !  Good-bye,  my  sweetheart !  Say  your 
prayers  for  me,  and  don't  be  frightened  however  late 
I  am.     And  have  a  good  tea !  " 


384  RODMOOR 


She  kissed  her  again,  and  with  a  final  wave  of  the 
hand  and  an  encouraging  smile,  she  left  the  room  and 
ran  down  the  stairs.  She  walked  slowly  to  the  top  of 
the  street,  her  head  bent,  wondering  in  her  mind  whether 
she  should  ask  Adrian  to  go  with  her  to  the  Renshaws' 
or  whether  she  should  go  alone. 

The  question  was  decided  for  her.  As  she  emerged 
on  the  green  she  suddenly  came  upon  Sorio  himself, 
standing  side  by  side  with  Philippa.  They  both  turned 
quickly  as,  in  the  flare  of  a  wind-blown  lamp,  they  per- 
ceived her  approach.  They  turned  and  awaited  her 
without  a  word. 

Without  a  word,  too  —  and  in  that  slow  dreamlike 
manner  which  human  beings  assume  at  certain  crises 
in  their  lives,  when  fate  like  a  palpable  presence  among 
them  takes  their  movements  into  its  own  hand  —  they 
moved  off,  all  three  together,  in  the  direction  of  the 
park  gates.  Not  a  word  did  any  of  them  utter,  till, 
having  passed  the  gates,  they  were  quite  far  advanced 
along  that  dark  and  lonely  avenue. 

Then  Philippa  broke  the  silence.  "  I  can  say  to  her, 
Adrian,  what  I've  just  said  to  you  —  mayn't  I?" 

In  the  thick  darkness,  full  of  the  heavy  smell  of 
rain-soaked  leaves,  Sorio  walked  between  them. 
Nance's  hand  was  already  resting  upon  his  arm,  and 
now,  as  she  spoke,  Philippa's  fingers  searched  for  his, 
and  took  them  in  her  own  and  held  them  feverishly. 

"  You  can  say  what  you  please,  Phil,"  he  muttered, 
"but  you'll  see  what  she  answers  —  just  what  I  told 
you  just  now." 

Their  tone  of  intimate  association  stabbed  like  a 
knife   at   the   heart   of   Nance.     A   moment   ago  —  in 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER    385 

fact,  ever  since  she  liad  left  lier  by  the  weir  —  slie  had 
been  feeling  less  antagonistic  and  more  pitiful  towards 
her  vanquished  rival.  But  this  pronoun  "  she "  ap- 
plied mutually  by  them  to  herself,  seemed  to  push  her 
back  —  back  and  away  —  outside  the  circle  of  some 
mysterious  understanding  between  the  two.  Her  heart 
hardened  fiercely.  Was  this  girl  still  possessed  of  some 
unknown  menacing  power? 

"  What  I  asked  Adrian,"  said  Philippa  quietly,  while 
the  pressure  of  her  burning  fingers  within  the  man's 
hand  indicated  the  strain  of  this  quietness,  "  was 
whether  you  would  be  generous  and  noble  enough  to  give 
him  up  to  me  for  his  last  free  day  —  the  last  day  be- 
fore you're  married.  Would  you  be  large-hearted 
enough  for  that-f*  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  — '  give  him  up  '  to  you?  "  mur- 
mured Nance. 

Philippa  burst  in  a  shrill  unearthly  laugh.  "  Oh, 
you  needn't  be  frightened ! "  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
needn't  be  jealous.  I  only  mean  let  me  go  with  him, 
for  the  whole  day,  a  long  walk  —  you  know  —  or  some- 
thing like  that  —  perhaps  a  row  up  the  river.  It 
doesn't  matter  what,  as  long  as  I  feel  that  that  day  is 
my  day,  my  day  with  him  —  the  last,  and  the  long- 
est ! " 

She  was  silent,  feverish,  her  fingers  twining  and  twist- 
ing themselves  round  her  companion's,  and  her  breath 
coming  in  quick  gasps.  Nance  was  silent  also,  and 
they  all  three  moved  forward  through  the  heavy  fra- 
grant darkness. 

"  You  two  seem  to  have  settled  it  between  yourselves 
definitely  enough,"  Nance  remarked  at  last.     "  I  don't 


386  RODMOOR 


really  see  why  you  need  bring  me  into  it  at  all.  Adrian 
is,  of  course,  entirely  free  to  do  what  he  likes.  I  don't 
see  what  I  have  to  do  with  it ! " 

Philippa's  hot  fingers  closed  tightly  upon  Sorio's  as 
she  received  this  rebuff.  "  You  see ! "  she  murmured 
in  a  tone  that  bit  into  Nance's  flesh  like  the  tooth  of 
an  adder.  "  You  see,  Adriano  !  "  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  gave  a  low  vindictive  laugh.  *'  She's  a 
thorough  woman,"  she  added  with  stinging  emphasis. 
"  She's  what  my  mother  would  call  a  sweet,  tender, 
sensitive  girl.  But  we  mustn't  expect  too  much  from 
her,  Adrian,  must  we.''  I  mean  in  the  way  of  gener- 
osity." 

Nance  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  arm  of  her  be- 
trothed and  they  all  three  walked  on  in  silence. 

"  You  see  what  you're  in  for,  my  friend,"  Philippa 
began  again.  "  Once  married  it'll  be  always  like  this. 
That  is  what  you  seem  unable  to  realize.  It's  a  mis- 
take, as  I've  often  said,  this  mixing  of  classes." 

Nance  could  no  longer  restrain  herself.  "  May  I 
ask  what  you  mean  by  that  last  remark?  "  she  whis- 
pered in  a  low  voice. 

Philippa  laughed  lightly.  "  It  doesn't  need  much 
explanation,"  she  replied.  "  Adrian  is,  of  course,  of 
very  ancient  blood,  and  you  —  well,  you  betray  your- 
self naturally  by  this  lack  of  nobility,  this  common 
middle-class  jealousy!" 

Nance  turned  fiercely  upon  them,  and  clutching 
Sorio's  arm  spoke  loudly  and  passionately.  "  And  you 
—  what  are  you^  who,  like  a  girl  of  the  streets,  are 
ready  to  pick  up  what  you  can  of  a  man's  attentions 
and  attract  him  with  mere  morbid  physical  attraction? 
You  —  what  are  you^  who,  as  you  say  yourself,  are 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER    387 

ready  to  share  a  man  with  some  one  else?  Uo  you  call 
that  a  sign  of  good-breeding?  " 

Philippa  laughed  again.  "  It's  a  sign  at  any  rate 
of  being  free  from  that  stupid,  stuffy,  bourgeois  re- 
spectability, which  Adrian  is  going  to  get  a  taste  of 
now !  That  very  sneer  of  yours  — *  a  girl  of  the 
streets  ' —  shows  the  class  to  which  you  belong,  Nance 
Herrick !  We  don't  say  those  things.  It's  what  one 
hears  among  tradespeople." 

Nance's  fingers  almost  hurt  Sorio's  arms  as  she 
tightened  her  hold  upon  him.  "  It's  better  than  being 
what  you  are,  Philippa  Rcnshaw,"  she  burst  out.  "  It's 
better  than  deliberately  helping  your  brother  to  ruin 
innocent  young  girls  —  yes,  and  taking  pleasure  in 
seeing  him  ruining  them  —  and  then  taunting  them 
cruelly  in  their  shame,  and  holding  him  back  from  doing 
them  justice!  It's  better  than  that,  Philippa  Ren- 
shaw,  though  it  may  be  what  most  simple-minded  de- 
cent-hearted women  feel.  It's  better  than  being  re- 
duced by  blind  passion  to  have  to  come  to  another 
woman  and  beg  her  on  your  knees  for  a  '  last  day  '  as 
you  call  it!  It's  better  than  that  —  though  it  may 
be  what  ordinary  unintellectual  people  feel ! " 

Philippa's  fingers  grew  suddenly  numb  and  stiff  in 
Sorio's  grasp.  "  Do  you  know,"  she  murmured,  "  you 
*  decent-feeling  '  woman  —  if  that's  what  you  call  your- 
self —  that  a  couple  of  hours  ago,  when  you  left  me 
on  the  river  bank,  I  was  within  an  ace  of  drowning 
myself?  I  suppose  *  decent-feeling '  women  never  run 
such  a  risk !  They  leave  that  to  '  street-girls  '  and  — 
and  —  and  to  us  others  !  " 

Nance  turned  to  Sorio.  "  So  she's  been  telling  you 
that  she  was  thinking  of  drowning  herself?     I  thought 


388  RODMOOR 


it  was  something  of  that  kind!  And  I  suppose  you  be- 
lieved her.     I  suppose  you  always  believe  her !  " 

*' And  he  always  believes  you!"  Philippa  cried. 
•'  Yes,  he's  always  deceived  —  the  easy  fool  —  by  your 
womanly  sensitive  ways  and  your  touching  refinement ! 
It's  women  like  you,  without  intelligence  and  without 
imagination,  who  are  the  ruin  of  men  of  genius.  A 
lot  you  care  for  his  work !  A  lot  you  understand  of 
his  thoughts !  Oh,  yes,  you  may  get  him,  and  cuddle 
him,  and  spoil  him,  but,  when  it  comes  to  the  point, 
Avhat  you  are  to  him  is  a  mere  domestic  drudge !  And 
not  only  a  drudge,  you're  a  drag,  a  burden,  a  dead- 
weight !  A  mere  mass  of  '  decent-feeling '  womanli- 
ness —  weighing  him  down.  He'll  never  be  able  to  write 
another  line  when  once  you've  really  got  hold  of  him !  " 

Nance  had  her  answer  to  this,  "  I'd  sooner  he  never 
did  write  another  line,"  she  cried,  "  and  remain  in  his 
sober  senses,  than  be  left  to  your  influence,  and  be 
driven  mad  by  you  —  you  and  your  diseased,  morbid, 
wicked  imagination !  " 

Their  two  voices,  rising  and  falling  in  a  lamentable 
litany  of  elemental  antagonism  —  antagonism  cruel  as 
life  and  deeper  than  death  —  floated  about  Sorio's 
head,  in  that  perfumed  darkness,  like  opposing  streams 
of  poison.  It  was  only  that  he  himself,  harassed  by 
long  irritating  debates  with  Baltazar,  was  too  troubled, 
too  obsessed  by  a  thousand  agitating  doubts,  to  have 
the  energy  or  the  spirit  to  bring  the  thing  to  an  end, 
or  he  could  not  have  endured  it  up  to  this  point.  With 
his  nerves  shaken  by  Baltazar's  corrosive  arts,  and  the 
weight  of  those  rain-heavy  trees  and  thick  darkness  all 
around  him,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  in  some  kind  of  trance, 
and  were  withheld  by  a  paralysing  interdict  from  lift- 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER    389 

ing  a  finger.  There  came  to  him  a  sort  of  half-savage, 
half-humorous  remembrance  of  a  conversation  he  had 
once  had  with  some  one  or  other  —  his  mind  was  too 
confused  to  recall  the  occasion  —  in  which  he  had  up- 
held the  idealistic  theory  of  the  arrival  of  a  day  when 
sex  jealousy  would  disappear  from  the  earth. 

But  as  the  girls  continued  to  outrage  each  other's 
most  secret  feelings,  each  unconsciously  quickening  her 
pace  as  she  poured  forth  her  taunts,  and  both  dragging 
Sorio  forward  with  them,  the  feeling  grew  upon  him 
that  he  was  watching  some  deep  cosmic  struggle,  that 
was,  in  its  way,  as  inhuman  and  elemental  as  a  con- 
flict between  wind  and  water.  With  this  idea  lodged 
in  his  brain,  he  began  to  derive  a  certain  wild  and  fan- 
tastic pleasure  from  the  way  they  lacerated  one  an- 
other. There  was  no  coxcombry  in  this.  He  was  far 
too  wrought-upon  and  shaken  in  his  mind.  But  there 
was  a  certain  grim  exultant  enjoyment,  as  if  he  were, 
at  that  moment,  permitted  a  passing  glimpse  into  some 
dark  forbidden  "  cellarage "  of  Nature,  where  the 
primordial  elements  clash  together  in  eternal  conflict. 

Inspired  by  this  strange  mood,  he  returned  the  pres- 
sure of  Philippa's  fingers,  and  entwined  his  arm  round 
the  trembling  form  of  his  betrothed,  drawing  both  the 
girls  closer  towards  him,  and,  in  consequence,  closer 
towards  one  another. 

They  continued  their  merciless  encounter,  almost  un- 
conscious, it  seemed,  of  the  presence  of  the  man  who 
was  the  cause  of  it,  and  without  strength  left  to  resist 
the  force  with  which  he  was  gradually  drawing  them  to- 
gether. 

Suddenly  the  wind,  which  had  dropped  a  little  dur- 
ing  the   previous   hour,   rose    again    in   a   violent   and 


390  RODMOOR 


furious  gust.  It  tore  at  the  dark  branches  above  their 
heads  and  went  moaning  and  waiHng  through  the  thick- 
ets on  either  side  of  them.  Drops  of  rain,  held  in  sus- 
pension by  the  thicker  leaves,  splashed  suddenly  upon 
their  faces,  and  from  the  far  distance,  with  a  long- 
drawn  ominous  muttering,  that  seemed  to  come  from 
some  unknown  region  of  flight  and  disaster,  the  sound 
of  thunder  came  to  their  ears. 

Sorio  dropped  Philippa's  hand  and  embracing  her 
tightly,  drew  her,  too,  closely  towards  him.  Thus  in- 
terlocked by  the  man's  arms,  all  three  of  them  stag- 
gered forward  together,  lashed  by  the  wind  and  sur- 
rounded by  vague  wood-noises  that  rose  and  fell  mys- 
teriously in  the  impenetrable  darkness. 

The  powers  of  the  earth  seemed  let  loose,  and  strange 
magnetic  currents  in  fierce  antipodal  conflict,  surged 
about  them,  and  tugged  and  pulled  at  their  hearts. 
The  sound  of  the  thunder,  the  wild  noises  of  the  night, 
the  strange  dark  evocations  of  elemental  hatred  which 
at  once  divided  and  united  his  companions,  surged 
through  Sorio's  brain  and  filled  him  with  a  sort  of 
intoxication. 

The  three  of  them  together  might  have  been  taken, 
had  the  clock  of  time  been  put  back  two  thousand 
years,  for  some  mad  Dionysian  worshippers  following 
their  god  in  a  wild  inhuman  revel. 

Inspired  at  last  by  a  sort  of  storm-frenzy,  while  the 
wind  came  wailing  and  shrieking  down  the  avenue  into 
their  faces,  Sorio  suddenly  stopped. 

"  Come,  you  two  little  fools,"  he  cried,  "  let's  end 
this  nonsense!  Here  —  kiss  one  another!  Kiss  one 
another,  and  thank  God  that  we're  alive  and  free  and 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER     391 

conscious,  and  not  mere  inert  matter,  like  these  dead 
drifting  leaves !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  stepped  back  a  little,  and  with  a 
swing  of  his  powerful  arms,  brought  both  the  girls  face 
to  face  with  one  another.  Nance  struggled  fiercely, 
and  resisted  with  all  her  strength.  Philippa,  with  a 
strange  whispering  laugh,  remained  passive  in  his  hands. 

"  Kiss  one  another  !  "  he  cried  again.  "  Are  you  kiss- 
ing or  are  you  holding  back.?  It's  too  dark  for  me  to 
see !  " 

Philippa  suddenly  lost  her  passivity,  slipped  like  a 
snake  from  under  his  encircling  arms,  and  rushed  away 
among  the  trees.  "  I  leave  her  to  you ! "  she  called 
back  to  them  out  of  the  darkness.  "  I  leave  her  to 
you!  You  won't  endure  her  long.  And  uhat  will 
Baptiste  do,  Adriano.?" 

This  last  word  of  hers  calmed  Sorio's  mood  and  threw 
him  back  upon  his  essential  self.     He  sighed  heavih'. 

"Well,  Nance,"  he  said,  "shall  we  go  back.?  It^'s 
no  use  waiting  for  her.  She'll  find  her  way  to  Oak- 
guard.  She  knows  every  inch  of  these  woods."  He 
sighed  again,  as  if  bidding  farewell,  in  one  fate-bur- 
dened moment,  both  to  the  woods  and  the  girl  who 
knew  them. 

"  You  can  go  back  if  you  like,"  Nance  answered 
curtly.  "  I'm  going  to  speak  to  Brand  ";  and  she  told 
him  in  a  brief  sentence  what  she  had  learned  from 
Linda. 

Sorio  seized  her  hand  and  clutched  it  savagely. 
"  Yes,  yes,"  he  cried,  "  yes,  yes,  let's  go  together.  He 
must  be  taught  a  lesson  —  this  Brand!  Come,  let's  go 
together !  " 


392  RODMOOR 

They  moved  on  rapidly  and  soon  approached  the 
end  of  the  avenue  and  the  entrance  to  the  garden.  As 
Sorio  pushed  open  the  iron  gates,  a  sharp  crack  of 
thunder,  followed  by  reverberating  detonations,  broke 
over  their  heads.  The  sudden  flash  that  succeeded  the 
sound  brought  into  vivid  relief  the  dark  form  of  the 
house,  while  a  long  row  of  fading  dahlias,  drooping  on 
their  rain-soaked  stems,  stood  forth  in  ghastly  illumi- 
nation. 

Nance  had  time  to  catch  on  Adrian's  face  a  look 
that  gave  her  a  premonition  of  danger.  Had  she  not 
herself  been  wrought-up  to  an  unnatural  pitch  of  ex- 
citement by  her  contest  with  Philippa,  she  would  prob- 
ably have  been  warned  in  time  and  have  drawn  back, 
postponing  her  interview  with  Brand  till  she  could  have 
seen  him  alone.  As  it  was,  she  felt  herself  driven  for- 
ward by  a  force  she  could  not  resist.  "  Now  —  very 
now,"  she  must  face  her  sister's  seducer. 

A  light,  burning  behind  heavy  curtains,  in  one  of 
the  lower  mullioncd  windows,  enabled  them  to  mount  the 
steps.  As  she  rang  the  bell,  a  second  peal  of  thunder, 
but  this  time  farther  off,  was  followed  by  a  vivid  flash 
of  lightning,  throwing  into  relief  the  wide  spaces  of 
the  park  and  the  scattered  groups  of  monumental 
oak  trees.  For  some  queer  psychic  reason,  inex- 
plicable to  any  material  analysis,  Nance  at  that  mo- 
ment saw  clearly  before  her  mind's  eye,  a  little  church 
almanac,  which  Linda  had  pinned  up  above  their 
dressing-table,  and  on  this  almanac  she  saw  the  date  — 
the  twenty-eighth  of  October  —  printed  in  Roman  fig- 
ures. 

To  the  servant  who  opened  the  door  Nance  gave  their 
names,  and  asked  whether  they  could  see  Mr.  Renshaw. 


TWENTY-EICxHTH  OF  OCTOBER    393 

"  Mr.  Renshaw,"  she  added  emphatically,  "  and  please 
tell  him  it's  an  urgent  and  important  matter." 

The  man  admitted  them  courteously  and  asked  them 
to  seat  themselves  in  the  entrance  hall  while  he  went 
to  look  for  his  master.  He  returned  after  a  short  time 
and  ushered  them  into  the  library,  where  a  moment 
later  Brand  joined  them. 

During  their  moment  of  waiting,  both  in  the  hall  and 
in  the  room,  Sorio  had  remained  taciturn  and  inert, 
sunk  in  a  fit  of  melancholy  brooding,  his  chin  propped 
on  the  handle  of  his  stick.  He  had  refused  to  allow  the 
servant  to  take  out  of  his  hands  either  his  stick  or  his 
hat,  and  he  still  held  them  both,  doggedly  and  gloomily, 
as  he  sat  by  Nance's  side  opposite  the  carved  fire- 
place. 

When  Brand  entered  they  both  rose,  but  he  motioned 
them  to  remain  seated,  and  drawing  up  a  chair  for  him- 
self close  by  the  side  of  the  hearth,  looked  gravely  and 
intently  into  their  faces. 

At  that  moment  another  rolling  vibration  of  thunder 
reached  them,  but  this  time  it  seemed  to  come  from 
very  far  away,  perhaps  from  several  miles  out  to  sea. 

Brand's  opening  words  were  accompanied  by  a  fierce 
lashing  of  rain  against  the  window,  and  a  spluttering, 
hissing  noise,  as  several  heavy  drops  fell  through  the 
old-fashioned  chimney  upon  the  burning  logs. 

"  I  think  I  can  guess,"  he  said,  "  why  you  two  have 
come  to  me.  I  am  glad  you  have  come,  especially  you, 
Miss  Herrick,  as  it  simplifies  things  a  great  deal.  It 
has  become  necessary  that  you  and  I  should  have  an 
explanation.  I  owe  it  to  myself  as  well  as  to  you. 
Bah !  What  nonsense  I'm  talking.  It  isn't  a  case  of 
*  owing.'     It  isn't  a  case  of  '  explaining.'     I  can  see 


394  RODJMOOR 


that  clearly  enough " —  he  laughed  a  genial  boyish 
laugh  — "  in  your  two  faces !  It's  a  case  of  our  own 
deciding,  with  all  the  issues  of  the  future  clearly  in 
mind,  what  will  be  really  best  for  your  sister's  happi- 
ness." 

"  She  has  not  sent  — "  began  Nance  hurriedly. 

"  What  you've  got  to  understand  —  you  Ren- 
shaw  — "  muttered  Adrian,  in  a  strange  hoarse  voice, 
clenching  and  unclenching  his  fingers. 

Brand  interrupted  them  both.  "  Pardon  me,"  he 
cried,  "  you  do  not  wish,  I  suppose,  either  of  you,  to 
cause  any  serious  shock  to  my  mother.''  It's  absurd 
of  her,  of  course,  and  old-fashioned,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing;  but  it  would  actually  kill  her — "  he  rose  as 
he  spoke  and  uttered  the  words  clearly  and  firmly.  "  It 
would  actually  kill  her  to  get  any  hint  of  what  we're 
discussing  now.  So,  if  you've  no  objection,  we'll  con- 
tinue this  discussion  in  the  work-shop."  He  moved 
towards  the  door. 

Sorio  followed  him  with  a  rapid  stride.  "  You  must 
understand,  Renshaw  — "  he  began. 

"  If  it'll  hurt  your  mother  so,"  cried  Nance  hur- 
riedly, "  what  must  Linda  be  suffering.''  You  didn't 
think  of  this,  Mr.  Renshaw,  when  you  — " 

Brand  swung  round  on  his  heel.  "  You  shall  say 
all  this  to  me,  all  that  you  wish  to  say  —  everything, 
do  you  hear,  everything!  Only  it  must  and  shall  be 
where  she  cannot  overhear  us.  Wait  till  we're  alone. 
We  shall  be  alone  in  the  work-shop." 

"  If  this  '  work-shop '  of  yours,"  muttered  Sorio 
savagely,  seizing  him  by  the  arm,  "  turns  out  to  be  one 
of  your  English  tricks,  you'd  better  — " 

"Silence,  you  fool!"  whispered  the  other.     "Can't 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER     395 

you  stop  him,  Miss  Hcrrick?  It'll  be  pure  murder  if 
my  mother  hears  this  !  " 

Nance  came  quickly  between  them.  "  Lead  on,  Mr. 
Renshaw,"  she  said.     "  We'll  follow  you." 

He  led  them  across  the  hall  and  down  a  long  dimly 
lit  passage.  At  the  end  of  this  there  was  a  heavily 
panelled  door.  Brand  took  a  key  from  his  pocket  and 
after  some  ineffectual  attempts  turned  the  lock  and 
stood  aside  to  let  them  enter.  He  closed  the  door  be- 
hind them,  leaving  the  key  on  the  outside.  The  "  work- 
shop "  Brand  had  spoken  of  turned  out  to  be  nothing 
more  or  less  than  the  old  private  chapel  of  Oakguard, 
disassociated,  however,  for  centuries  from  any  reli- 
gious use. 

Nance  glanced  up  at  the  carved  ceiling,  supported 
on  foliated  corbels.  The  windows,  high  up  from  the 
ground,  were  filled  with  Gothic  tracery,  but  in  place  of 
biblical  scenes  their  diamonded  panes  showed  the  ar- 
morial insignia  of  generations  of  ancient  Renshaws. 
There  was  a  raised  space  at  the  east  end,  where,  in  for- 
mer times,  the  altar  stood,  but  now,  in  place  of  an  altar, 
a  carpenter's  table  occupied  the  central  position,  cov- 
ered with  a  litter  of  laths  and  wood-chippings.  The 
middle  portion  of  the  chapel  was  bare  and  empty,  but 
several  low  cane  chairs  stood  round  this  space,  like 
seats  round  a  toy  coliseum. 

Brand  indicated  these  chairs  to  his  visitors,  but 
neither  Nance  nor  Sorio  seemed  inclined  to  avail  them- 
selves of  the  opportunity  to  rest.  They  all  three, 
therefore,  stood  together,  on  the  dark  polished  oak 
floor. 

On  first  entering  the  chapel.  Brand  had  lit  one  of  a 
long  row  of  tapers  that  stood  in  wooden  candlesticks 


396  RODMOOR 


along  the  edge  of  what  resembled  choir  stalls.  Now, 
leaving  his  companions,  he  proceeded  very  deliberately 
to  set  light  to  the  whole  line  of  these.  The  place  thus 
illuminated  had  a  look  strangely  weird  and  confused. 

Certain  broken  flower-pots  on  the  ground,  and  one 
or  two  rusty  gardening  implements,  combined  with  the 
presence  of  the  wicker-chairs  to  produce  the  impression 
of  some  sort  of  "  Petit  Trianon,"  or  manorial  summer- 
house,  into  which  all  manner  of  nondescript  rubbish  had 
in  process  of  long  years  come  to  drift. 

The  coats-of-arms  in  the  windows  above,  as  the 
tapers  flung  their  light  upon  them,  had  an  air  almost 
"  collegiate,"  as  if  the  chamber  were  some  ancient  din- 
ing-hall  of  a  monastic  order.  The  carpenter's  table 
upon  the  raised  dais,  with  some  dimly  coloured  Italia- 
nated  picture  behind  it,  inserted  in  the  panelling,  gave 
Nance  a  most  odd  sensation.  Where  had  she  seen  an 
effect  of  that  kind  before.?  In  a  picture  —  or  in 
reality  ? 

But  the  girl  had  no  heart  to  analyse  her  emotions. 
There  was  too  much  at  stake.  The  rain,  pattering 
heavily  on  the  roof  of  the  building,  seemed  to  remind 
her  of  her  task.  She  faced  Brand  resolutely  as  ho 
strolled  back   towards  them  across  the  polished  floor. 

"  Linda  has  told  me  everything,"  she  said.  "  She  is 
going  to  have  a  child,  and  you,  Mr.  Renshaw,  are  the 
father  of  it." 

Sorio  made  an  inarticulate  exclamation  and  ap- 
proached Brand  threateningly.  But  the  latter,  disre- 
garding him,  continued  to  look  Nance  straight  in  the 
face. 

"  Miss  Herrick,"  he  said  quietly,  "  you  are  a  sensible 
woman  and  not  one,  I  think,  liable  to  hysteric  senti- 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER     397 

mentalisin.  I  want  to  discuss  this  thing  quite  freely 
and  openly  with  you,  but  I  would  greatly  prefer  it  if 
your  husband  —  I  beg  your  pardon  —  if  Mr.  Sorio 
would  let  us  talk  without  interrupting.  I  haven't  got 
unlimited  time.  jNIy  mother  and  sister  will  be  both 
waiting  dinner  for  me  and  sending  people  to  find  me, 
perhaps  even  coming  themselves.  So  it's  obviously  in 
the  interests  of  all  of  us  —  particularly  of  Linda  — 
that  we  should  not  waste  time  in  any  mock  heroics." 

Nance  turned  quickly  to  her  betrothed.  "  You'll 
hear  all  we  say,  Adrian,  but  if  it  makes  things  easier, 
perhaps  — " 

Without  a  word,  in  mute  obedience  to  her  sad  smile, 
Sorio  left  their  side,  and  drawing  back,  seated  himself 
in  one  of  the  wicker  chairs,  hugging  his  heavy  stick 
between  his  knees. 

The  rain  continued  falling  without  intermission  upon 
the  leaden  roof,  and  from  a  pipe  above  one  of  the 
windows  they  could  hear  a  great  jet  of  water  splashing 
down  outside  the  wall. 

Brand  spoke  in  a  low  hurried  tone,  without  embar- 
rassment and  without  any  sort  of  shame.  "  Yes,  Miss 
Herrick,  what  she  says  is  quite  true.  But  now  come 
down  to  the  facts,  without  any  of  this  moral  vitupera- 
tion, which  only  clouds  the  issues.  You  have,  no  doubt, 
come  here  with  the  idea  of  asking  me  to  marry  Linda. 
No!  Don't  interrupt  me.  Let  me  finish.  But  I  want 
to  ask  you  this  —  how  do  you  know  that  if  I  marry 
Linda,  she'll  be  really  any  happier  than  she  is  to-day.'' 
Suppose  I  were  to  say  to  you  that  I  would  marry  her 
—  marry  her  to-morrow  —  would  that,  when  you  come 
to  think  it  over  in  cold  blood,  really  make  you  happy  in 
vour  mind  about  her  future? 


398  RODMOOR 


"  Come,  Miss  Herrick !  Put  aside  for  a  moment 
your  natural  anger  against  me.  Grant  what  you 
please  as  to  my  being  a  dangerous  character  and  a  bad 
man,  does  that  make  me  a  suitable  husband  for  your 
sister?  Your  instinct  is  a  common  instinct  —  the  nat- 
ural first  instinct  of  any  protector  of  an  injured  girl, 
but  is  it  one  that  will  stand  the  light  of  quiet  and  rea- 
sonable second  thoughts? 

"  I  am,  let  us  say,  a  selfish  and  unscrupulous  man 
who  has  seduced  a  young  girl.  Very  well !  You  want 
to  punish  me  for  my  ill-conduct,  and  how  do  you  go 
about  it?  By  giving  up  your  sister  into  my  hands! 
By  giving  up  to  me  —  a  cruel  and  unscrupulous 
wretch,  at  your  own  showing  —  the  one  thing  you  love 
best  in  the  world!  Is  that  a  punishment  such  as  I  de- 
serve? In  one  moment  you  take  away  all  my  remorse, 
for  no  one  remains  remorseful  after  he  has  been  pun- 
ished. And  you  give  my  victim  up  —  bound  hand  and 
foot  —  into  my  hands. 

**  Linda  may  love  nic  enough  to  be  glad  to  marry  me, 
quite  apart  from  the  question  of  her  good  fame.  But 
will  you,  who  probably  know  me  better  than  Linda,  feel 
happy  at  leaving  her  in  my  hands?  Your  idea  may 
be  that  I  should  marry  her  and  then  let  her  go.  But 
suppose  I  wouldn't  consent  to  let  her  go?  And  sup- 
pose she  wouldn't  consent  to  leave  me? 

"  There  we  are  —  tied  together  for  life  —  and  she  as 
the  weaker  of  the  two  the  one  to  suffer  for  the  ill-fated 
bargain !  That  will  not  have  been  a  punishment  for 
me,  Nance  Herrick,  nor  will  it  have  been  a  compensa- 
tion for  her.  It  will  simply  have  worked  out  as  a 
temporary  boredom  to  one  of  us,  and  as  miserable 
wretchedness  to  the  other ! 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER     399 

"  Is  that  what  you  wish  to  bring  about  by  this  inter- 
ference on  her  behalf?  It's  absurd  to  pretend  that  you 
think  of  me  as  a  mere  hot-headed  amorist,  desperately 
in  love  with  Linda,  as  she  is  with  me,  and  that,  by 
mairrying  us,  you  are  smoothing  out  her  path  and  set- 
tling her  down  happily  for  the  rest  of  her  life.  You 
think  of  me  as  a  cold-blooded  selfish  sensualist,  and  to 
punish  me  for  being  what  I  am,  you  propose  to  put 
Linda's  entire  happiness  absolutely  in  my  hands ! 

"  Of  course,  I  speak  to  you  like  this  knowing  that, 
whatever  your  feelings  are,  you  have  the  instincts  of  a 
lady.  A  different  type  of  woman  from  yourself  would 
consider  merely  the  worldly  aspect  of  the  matter  and 
the  advantage  to  your  sister  of  becoming  mistress  of 
Oakguard.  That,  I  know,  does  not  enter,  for  one  mo- 
ment, into  your  thoughts,  any  more  than  it  enters  into 
hers.  I  am  not  ironical  in  saying  this.  I  am  not  in- 
sulting you.     I  am  speaking  simply  the  truth. 

"  Forgive  me.  Miss  Herrick !  Even  to  mention  such 
a  thing  is  unworthy  of  either  of  us.  I  am,  as  you 
quite  justly  realize  —  and  probably  more  than  you 
realize  —  what  the  world  calls  unscrupulous.  But  no 
one  has  ever  accused  me  of  truckling  to  public  opinion 
or  social  position.  I  care  nothing  for  those  things, 
any  more  than  you  do  or  Linda  does.  As  far  as  those 
things  go  I  would  marry  her  to-morrow.  My  mother, 
as  you  doubtless  know,  hopes  that  I  shall  marry  her  — 
wishes  and  prays  for  it.  My  mother  has  never  given 
a  thought,  and  never  will  give  a  thought,  to  the  opinion 
of  the  world.  It  isn't  in  her  nature,  as  no  doubt  you 
quite  realize.  We  Renshaws  have  always  gone  our 
own  way,  and  done  what  we  pleased.  My  father  did  — 
Philippa  does ;  and  I  do. 


400  RODMOOR 


"  Come,  Miss  Herrick !  Try  for  a  moment  to  put 
your  anger  against  me  out  of  the  question.  Suppose 
you  did  induce  me  to  marry  Linda,  and  Linda  to  marry 
me,  does  that  mean  that  you  make  me  change  my  na- 
ture? We  Renshaws  never  change  and  /  never  shall, 
you  may  be  perfectly  sure  of  that!  I  couldn't  even  if 
I  wanted  to.  My  blood,  my  race,  my  father's  instincts 
in  me,  go  too  deep.  We're  an  evil  tribe,  Nance  Her- 
rick, an  evil  tribe,  and  especially  are  we  evil  in  our  re- 
lations with  women.  Some  families  are  like  that,  you 
know!  It's  a  sort  of  tradition  with  them.  And  it  is 
so  with  us.  It  may  be  some  dark  old  strain  of  Viking 
blood,  the  blood  of  the  race  that  burnt  the  monasteries 
in  the  days  of  yEthelred  the  Unready!  On  the  other 
hand  it  may  be  some  unaccountable  twist  in  our  brains, 
due  —  as  Fingal  says  —  to  —  oh  !  to  God  knows  what ! 

"  Let  it  go !  It  doesn't  matter  what  it  is ;  and  I 
daresay  you  think  me  a  grotesque  h^^pocrite  for  bring- 
ing such  a  matter  into  it  at  all.  Well !  Let  it  go ! 
There's  really  no  need  to  drag  in  ^thelred  the  Un- 
ready !  What  you  and  I  have  to  do,  Miss  Herrick,  is, 
seriously  and  quietly,  without  passion  or  violence,  to 
discuss  what's  best  for  your  sister's  happiness.  Put 
my  punishment  out  of  your  mind  for  the  present  — 
that  can  come  later.  Your  friend  Mr.  Sorio  will  be 
only  too  pleased  to  deal  with  that!  The  point  for  us 
to  consider,  for  us  who  both  love  your  sister,  is,  what 
will  really  be  happiest  for  her  in  the  long  run  —  and  I 
can  assure  you  that  no  woman  who  ever  lived  could  be 
happy  long  tied  hand  and  foot  to  a  Renshaw. 

"  Look  at  my  mother !  Does  she  suggest  a  person 
who  has  had  a  happy  life?  I  tell  you  she  would  give 
all  she  has  ever  enjoyed  here  —  every  stick  and  stone 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER     401 

of  Oakguard  —  never  to  have  set  eyes  on  my  fatlicr  — 
never  to  liave  given  birth  to  Philippa  or  to  me !  We 
Renshaws  may  have  our  good  qualities  —  God  knows 
what  they  are  —  but  we  may  have  them.  But  one 
thing  is  certain.  We  are  worse  than  the  very  devil  for 
any  woman  who  tries  to  live  with  us  !  It's  in  our  blood, 
I  tell  you.  We  can't  help  it.  We're  made  to  drive 
women  mad  —  to  drive  them  into  their  graves  !  " 

He  stopped  abruptly  with  a  bitter  and  hopeless  shrug 
of  his  shoulders.  Nance  had  listened  to  him,  all  the 
way  through  his  long  speech,  with  concentrated  and 
frowning  attention.  When  he  had  finished  she  stood 
staring  at  him  without  a  word,  almost  as  if  she  wished 
him  to  continue ;  almost  as  if  something  about  his  per- 
sonality fascinated  her  in  spite  of  herself,  and  made 
her  sympathetic. 

But  Sorio,  who  had  been  fidgetting  with  his  heavy 
stick,  rose  now,  slowly  and  deliberately,  to  his  feet. 
Nance,  looking  at  his  face,  saw  upon  it  an  expression 
which  from  long  association  she  had  come  to  regard 
with  mingled  tenderness  and  alarm.  It  was  the  look  his 
features  wore  when  on  the  point  of  rushing  to  the  as- 
sistance of  some  wounded  animal  or  ill-used  child. 

He  uttered  no  word,  but  flinging  Nance  aside  with 
his  left  hand,  with  the  other  he  struck  blindly  with  his 
stick,  aiming  a  murderous  blow  straight  at  Brand's 
face. 

Brand  had  barely  time  to  raise  his  hand.  The  blow 
fell  upon  his  wrist,  and  his  arm  sank  under  it  limp  and 
paralysed. 

Nance,  with  a  loud  cry  for  assistance,  clung  fran- 
tically to  Sorio's  neck,  trying  to  hold  him  back.  But 
apparently  beyond  all   consciousness   now   of  what  he 


402  RODMOOR 


was  doing,  Sorio  flung  her  roughly  back  and  drove  his 
enemy  with  savage  repeated  strokes  into  a  corner  of 
the  room.  It  was  not  long  before  Brand's  other  arm 
was  rendered  as  useless  as  the  first,  and  the  blows  fall- 
ing now  on  his  unprotected  head,  soon  felled  him  to  the 
ground. 

Nance,  who  had  flung  open  the  door  and  uttered  wild 
and  panic-stricken  cries  for  help,  now  rushed  across  the 
room  and  pinioned  the  exhausted  flagellant  in  her 
strong  young  arms.  Seeing  his  enemy  motionless  and 
helpless  with  a  stream  of  blood  trickling  down  his  face, 
Adrian  resigned  himself  passively  to  her  controlling 
embrace. 

They  were  found  in  this  position  by  the  two  men- 
servants,  who  came  rushing  down  the  passage  in  an- 
swer to  her  screams.  Mrs.  Renshaw,  dressing  in  her 
room  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house,  heard  nothing. 
The  steady  downpour  of  the  rain  dulled  all  other 
sounds.     Philippa  had  not  yet  returned. 

Under  Nance's  directions,  the  two  men  carried  their 
master  out  of  the  "  workshop,"  while  she  herself  con- 
tinued to  cling  desperately  to  Sorio.  There  had  been 
something  hideous  and  awful  to  the  girl's  imagination 
about  the  repeated  "  thud  —  thud  —  thud  "  of  the 
blows  delivered  by  her  lover.  This  was  especially  so 
after  the  numbing  of  his  bruised  arms  reduced  Adrian's 
victim  to  helplessness. 

As  she  clung  to  him  now  she  seemed  to  hear  the 
sound  of  those  blows  —  each  one  striking,  as  it  seemed, 
something  resistless  and  prostrate  in  her  own  being. 
And  once  more,  with  grotesque  iteration,  the  figures 
upon  Linda's  almanac  ticked  like  a  clock  in  answer  to 
the  echo  of  that  sound.     "  October  the  twenty-eighth 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER     403 

—  October  the  twenty-eighth,"  repeated  the  church- 
almanac,  from  its  red-lettered  frame. 

The  extraordinary  thing  was  that  as  her  mind  began 
to  function  more  naturally  again,  she  became  conscious 
that,  all  the  while,  during  that  appalling  scene,  even 
at  the  very  moment  when  she  was  crying  out  for  help, 
she  had  experienced  a  sort  of  wild  exultation.  She  re- 
called that  emotion  quite  clearly  now  with  a  sense  of 
curious  shame. 

She  was  also  aware  that  while  glancing  at  Brand's 
pallid  and  unconscious  face  as  they  carried  him  from 
the  room,  she  had  felt  a  sudden  indescribable  softening 
towards  him  and  a  feeling  for  him  that  she  would 
hardly  have  dared  to  put  into  words.  She  found  her- 
self, even  now,  as  she  went  over  in  her  mind  with  light- 
ning rapidity  every  one  of  the  frightful  moments  she 
had  just  gone  through,  changing  the  final  episode  in 
her  heart,  to  quite  a  different  one ;  to  one  in  which  she 
herself  knelt  down  by  their  enemy's  side,  and  wiped  the 
blood  from  his  forehead,  and  brought  him  back  to  con- 
sciousness. 

Left  alone  with  Sorio,  Nance  relaxed  her  grasp  and 
laid  her  hands  appealingly  upon  his  shoulder.  But  it 
was  into  unseeing  eyes  that  she  looked,  and  into  a  face 
barely  recognizable  as  that  of  her  well-beloved.  He 
began  talking  incoherently  and  yet  with  a  kind  of  ter- 
rible deliberation  and  assurance. 

"What's  that  you  say?  Only  the  rain.?  They  say 
it's  only  the  rain  when  they  want  to  fool  me  and  quiet 
me.  But  I  know  better !  They  can't  fool  me  like  that. 
It's  blood,  of  course;  it's  Nance's  blood.  You,  Nance? 
Oh,  no,  no,  no!  I'm  not  so  easily  fooled  as  that. 
Nance  is  at  the  bottom  of  that  hole  in  the  wood,  where 


404  RODMOOR 


I  struck  her  —  one  —  two  —  three!  It  took  three  hits 
to  do  it  —  and  she  didn't  speak  a  word,  not  a  word,  nor 
utter  one  least  little  cry.  It's  funny  that  I  had  to  hit 
her  three  times !  She  is  so  soft,  so  soft  and  easy  to 
hurt.  No,  no,  no,  no !  I'm  not  to  be  fooled  like  that. 
My  Nance  had  great  laughing  grey  eyes.  Yours  are 
horrible,  horrible.  I  see  terror  in  them.  She  was 
afraid  of  nothing." 

His  expression  changed,  and  a  wistful  hunted  look 
came  into  his  face.  The  girl  tried  to  pull  him  towards 
one  of  the  chairs,  but  he  resisted  —  clasping  her  hand 
appealingly. 

"  Tell  me,  Phil,"  he  whispered,  in  a  low  awe-struck 
voice,  "  tell  me  why  you  made  me  do  it.  Did  you  think 
it  would  be  better,  better  for  all  of  us,  to  have  her 
lying  there  cold  and  still?  No,  no,  no!  You  needn't 
look  at  me  with  those  dreadful  eyes.  Do  you  know, 
Phil,  since  you  made  me  kill  her  I  think  your  eyes  have 
grown  to  look  like  hers,  and  your  face,  too  —  and  all 
of  you." 

Nance,  as  he  spoke,  cried  out  woefully  and  helplessly. 
"  I  am  !  I  am  !  I  am !  Adrian  —  my  own  —  my 
darling  —  don't  you  know  me.''     I  am  your  Nance!  " 

He  staggered  slowly  now  to  one  of  the  chairs,  mov- 
ing each  foot  as  he  did  so  with  horrible  deliberation 
as  if  nothing  he  did  could  be  done  naturally  any  more, 
or  without  a  conscious  effort  of  will.  Seating  himself 
in  the  chair,  he  drew  her  down  upon  his  knee  and  be- 
gan passing  his  fingers  backwards  and  forwards  over 
her  face. 

"Why  did  you  make  me  do  it,  Phil?"  he  moaned, 
rocking  her  to  and  fro  as  if  she  were  a  child.  "  Why 
did  you   make  me  do  it?     She  would  have  given  me 


TWENTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER     405 

sleep,  if  you'd  only  let  her  alone,  cool,  deep,  delicious 
sleep!  She  would  have  smoothed  away  all  my  troubles. 
She  would  have  destroyed  the  old  Adrian  and  made  a 
new  one  —  a  clear  untroubled  one,  bathed  in  great 
floods  of  glorious  white  light !  " 

His  voice  sank  to  an  awe-struck  and  troubled  mur- 
mur. "  Phil,  my  dear,"  he  whispered,  "  Phil,  listen  to 
me.  There's  something  I  can't  remember !  Something 
—  0  God!  No!  It's  some  one — some  one  most  pre- 
cious to  me  —  and  I've  forgotten.  Something's  hap- 
pened to  my  brain,  and  I've  forgotten.  It  was  after 
I  struck  those  blows,  those  blows  that  made  her  mouth 
look  so  twisted  and  funny  —  just  like  yours  looks  now, 
Phil!  Why  is  it,  do  you  think,  that  dead  people  have 
that  look  on  their  mouths?  Phil,  tell  me;  tell  me  what 
it  is  I've  forgotten  !  Don't  be  cruel  now.  I  can't  stand 
it  now.  I  must  remember.  I  always  seem  just  on  the 
point  of  remembering,  and  then  something  in  my  brain 
closes  up,  like  an  iron  door.  Oh,  Phil  —  my  love,  my 
love,  tell  me  what  it  is !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  clasped  the  girl  convulsively,  crush- 
ing her  and  hurting  her  by  the  strength  of  his  arms. 
To  hear  him  address  her  thus  by  the  name  of  her  rival 
was  such  misery  to  Nance  that  she  was  hardly  conscious 
of  the  physical  distress  caused  by  his  violence.  It  was 
still  worse  when,  relaxing  the  force  of  his  grasp,  he 
began  to  fondle  and  caress  her,  stroking  her  face  with 
his  fingers  and  kissing  her  cheeks. 

"Phil,  my  love,  my  darling!"  he  kept  repeating, 
"  please  tell  me  —  please,  please  tell  me,  what  it  is  I've 
forgotten ! " 

Nance  suffered  at  that  moment  the  extreme  limit  of 
what  she  was  capable  of  enduring.     She  dreaded  every 


406  RODMOOR 


moment  that  Philippa  herself  would  come  in.  She 
dreaded  the  re-appearance  of  the  servants,  perhaps 
with  more  assistance,  ready  to  separate  them  and 
carry  Adrian  away  from  her.  To  feel  his  caresses 
and  to  know  that  in  his  wild  thoughts  they  were  not 
meant  for  her  at  all  —  that  was  more,  surely  more, 
than  God  could  have  intended  her  to  suffer ! 

Suddenly  she  had  an  inspiration.  "  Is  it  Baptiste 
that  you've  forgotten?" 

The  word  had  an  electrical  effect  upon  him.  He 
threw  her  off  his  lap  and  leapt  to  his  feet. 

"  Yes,"  he  cried  savagely  and  wildly,  the  train  of 
his  thoughts  completely  altered,  "  you're  all  keeping 
him  away  from  me!  That's  what's  at  the  bottom  of 
it !  You've  hidden  Nance  from  me  and  given  me  this 
woman  who  looks  like  her  but  who  can't  smile  and 
laugh  like  my  Nance,  to  deceive  me  and  betray  me ! 
I  know  you  —  you  staring,  white-faced,  frightened 
thing !  You  don't  deceive  me !  You  don't  fool  Ad- 
rian.    I  know  you.     You  are  not  my  Nance." 

She  had  staggered  away,  a  few  paces  from  him,  when 
he  first  threw  her  off,  and  now,  with  a  heart-rending 
effort,  she  tried  to  smooth  the  misery  out  of  her  face 
and  to  smile  at  him  in  her  normal,  natural  way.  But 
the  effort  was  a  ghastly  mockery.  It  was  little  won- 
der, seeing  her  there,  so  lamentably  trying  to  smile  into 
his  eyes,  that  he  cried  out  savagely:  "  That's  not  my 
Nance's  smile.  That's  the  smile  of  a  cunning  mask! 
You've  hidden  her  away  from  me.  Curse  you  all  — 
you've  hidden  her  away  from  me  —  and  Baptiste,  too ! 
Where  is  my  Baptiste  —  you  staring  white  thing? 
Whore  is  my  Baptiste,  you  woman  with  a  twisted 
mouth?" 


TWEXTY-EIGHTH  OF  OCTOBER     407 

He  rushed  fiercely  towards  her  and  seized  her  by 
the  throat.  "  Tell  me  what  you've  done  with  him,"  he 
cried,  shaking  her  to  and  fro,  and  tightening  his  grasp 
upon  her  neck.  "  Tell  me,  you  devil !  Tell  me,  or  I'll 
kill  you." 

Nance's  brain  clouded  and  darkened.  Her  senses 
grew  confused  and  misty.  "  He's  going  to  strangle 
me,"  she  thought,  "  and  I  don't  care !  This  pain  won't 
last  long,  and  it  will  be  death  from  his  hand." 

All  at  once,  however,  in  a  sudden  flash  of  blinding 
clearness,  she  realized  what  this  moment  meant.  If  she 
let  him  murder  her,  passively,  unresistingly,  what  would 
become  of  him  when  she  was  dead.?  Simultaneously 
with  this  thought  something  seemed  to  rise  up,  strong 
and  clear,  from  the  depths  of  her  being,  something  pow- 
erful and  fearless,  ready  to  wrestle  with  fate  to  the 
very  end. 

"  He  shan't  kill  me !  "  she  thought.  "  I'll  live  to  save 
us  both."  Tearing  frantically  at  his  hands,  she  strug- 
gled backwards  towards  the  open  door,  dragging  him 
with  her.  In  his  mad  blood-lust  he  was  horribly,  mur- 
derously strong;  but  this  new  life-impulse,  springing 
from  some  supernatural  level  in  the  girl's  being,  proved 
still  stronger.  With  one  tremendous  wrench  at  his 
wrists  she  flung  him  from  her ;  flung  him  away  with 
such  violence  that  he  slipped  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

In  a  moment  she  had  rushed  through  the  doorway  and 
closed  and  locked  the  heavy  door  behind  her.  Even 
at  the  very  second  she  achieved  this  and  staggered 
faint  and  weak  against  the  wall,  what  seemed  to  her 
rapidly  clouding  senses  a  large  concourse  of  noisy 
people  carrying  flickering  lights,  swept  about  her.  As 
they  came  upon  her  she  sank  to  the  floor,  her  last  im- 


408  RODMOOR 


pression  being  that  of  the  great  dark  eyes  of  Philippa 
Renshaw  illuminated  by  an  emotion  which  was  beyond 
her  power  of  deciphering,  an  emotion  in  which  her 
mind  lost  itself,  as  she  tried  to  understand  it,  in  a  deep 
impenetrable  mist,  that  changed  to  absolute  darkness 
as  she  fainted  away. 


n 


XXV 

BALTAZAR  STORK 

THE  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth  of  October 
crept  slowly  and  greyly  through  the  windows 
of  the  sisters'  room.  Linda  had  done  her  best 
to  forget  her  own  trouble  and  to  offer  what  she  could 
of  consolation  and  hope  to  Nance.  It  was  nearly  three 
o'clock  before  the  unhappy  girl  found  forgetfulness  in 
sleep,  and  now  with  the  first  gleam  of  light  she  was 
awake  again. 

The  worst  she  could  have  anticipated  was  what  had 
happened.  Adrian  had  been  taken  away  —  not  recog- 
nizing any  one  —  to  that  very  Asylum  at  IMundham 
which  they  had  glanced  at  together  with  such  ominous 
forebodings.  She  herself  —  what  else  could  she  do?  — 
h.ad  been  forced  to  sign  her  name  to  the  official  docu- 
ment which,  before  midnight  fell  upon  Oakguard,  made 
legal  his  removal. 

She  had  signed  it  —  she  shuddered  now  to  think  of 

her  feelings  at  that  moment  —  below  the  name  of  Brand, 

Mho  as  a  magistrate  was  officially  compelled  to  take  the 

initiative  in  the  repulsive  business.     Dr.  Raughty  and 

Mr.   Trahcrne,  who  had  both   been   summoned   to  the 

house,  had  signed  that  dreadful  paper,  too.     Nance's 

first  impression  on  regaining  consciousness  was  that  of 

the   Doctor's    form   bending  anxiously   over  her.      She 

remembered  how  queer  his  face  looked  in  the  shadowy 

candle-light  and  how  gently  he  had  stroked  the  back  of 

409 


410  RODMOOR 


her  hand  when  she  unclosed  her  eyes,  and  what  relief 
his  expression  had  shown  when  she  whispered  his  name. 

It  was  the  Doctor  who  had  driven  her  home  at  last, 
when  the  appalling  business  was  over  and  the  people 
had  come,  with  a  motor  car  from  Mundham,  and  car- 
ried Adrian  awa}'.  She  had  learnt  from  him  that 
Brand's  injuries  were  in  no  way  serious  and  were  likely 
to  leave  no  lasting  hurt,  beyond  a  deep  scar  on  the  fore- 
head. His  arms  were  bruised  and  injured,  Fingal  told 
her,  but  neither  of  them  was  actually  broken. 

Hamish  Traherne  had  gone  with  the  Mundham  people 
to  the  Asylum  and  would  spend  the  night  there.  He 
had  promised  Nance  to  come  and  see  her  before  noon 
and  tell  her  everything. 

She  gathered  also  from  Fingal  that  Philippa,  show- 
ing unusual  promptitude  and  tact,  had  succeeded  in 
keeping  Mrs.  Renshaw  away,  both  from  the  closed  door 
of  the  chapel  and  from  the  bedside  of  Brand,  until  the 
latter  had  recovered  consciousness. 

Nance,  as  her  mind  went  over  and  over  every  detail 
of  that  hideous  evening,  could  not  help  thanking  God 
that  Adrian  had  at  least  been  spared  the  tragic  burden 
of  blood-guiltiness.  As  far  as  the  law  of  the  land  was 
concerned,  he  had  only  to  recover  his  sanity  and  re- 
gain his  normal  senses,  to  make  his  liberation  easy  and 
natural.  There  had  been  no  suggestion  in  the  pa- 
per she  had  signed  —  and  she  had  been  especially 
on  the  look-out  for  that  —  with  regard  to  criminal 
lunac3\ 

She  sat  up  in  bed  and  looked  at  her  sister.  Linda 
was  sleeping  as  peacefully  as  a  child.  The  cold  morn- 
ing light  gave  her  face  a  curious  pallor.  Her  long 
brown  lashes  lay  motionless  upon  her  cheeks,  and  from 


BALTAZAR  STORK  411 

her  gently  parted  lips  her  breath  came  evenly  and 
calmly. 

Nance  recalled  the  strange  interview  she  had  had  with 
Brand  before  Adrian  flung  himself  between  them.  It 
was  strange !  Do  what  she  could,  she  could  not  feel 
towards  that  man  anything  but  a  deep  unspeakable 
pity.  Had  he  magnetized  her  —  her  too  —  she  won- 
dered —  with  that  mysterious  force  in  him,  that  force 
at  once  terrible  and  tender,  M'hich  so  many  women  had 
found  fatal?  No  —  no!  That,  of  course,  was  ridicu- 
lous. That  was  unthinkable.  Her  heart  was  Adrian's 
and  Adrian's  alone.  But  why,  then,  was  it  that  she 
found  herself  not  only  pardoning  him  what  he  had 
done  but  actually  —  in  some  inexplicable  way  —  con- 
doning it  and  understanding  it?  Was  she,  too,  losing 
her  wits?  Was  she,  too, —  under  the  influence  of  this 
disastrous  place  —  forfeiting  all  sense  of  moral  propor- 
tion ? 

The  man  had  seduced  her  sister,  and  had  refused  — 
that  remained  quite  clearly  as  the  prevailing  impression 
of  that  wild  interview  with  him  —  definitely  and  ob- 
stinately to  marry  her,  and  yet,  here  was  she,  her  sis- 
ter's only  protector  in  the  world,  softening  in  her  heart 
towards  him  and  thinking  of  him  with  a  sort  of  senti- 
mental pity !  Truly  the  minds  of  mortal  men  and 
women  contained  mysteries  past  finding  out ! 

She  lay  back  once  more  upon  her  pillows  and  let  the 
hours  of  the  morning  flow  over  her  head  like  softly 
murmuring  waves.  There  is  often,  especially  in  a 
country  town,  something  soothing  and  refreshing  be- 
yond words  in  the  opening  of  an  autumn  day.  In 
winter  the  light  does  not  arrive  till  the  stir  and  noise 
and  trafl^c  of  the  streets  has  already,  so  to  speak,  es- 


412  RODMOOR 


tablished  itself.  In  summer  the  earlier  hours  are  so 
long  and  bright,  that  by  the  time  the  first  movements 
of  humanity  begin,  the  day  has  already  been  ravished 
of  its  pristine  freshness  and  grown  jaded  and  garish. 
Early  mornings  in  spring  have  a  magical  and  thrilling 
charm,  but  the  very  exuberance  of  joyous  life  then, 
the  clamorous  excitement  of  birds  and  animals,  the 
feverish  uneasiness  and  restlessness  of  human  children, 
make  it  difficult  to  lie  awake  in  perfect  receptivity, 
drinking  in  every  sound  and  letting  oneself  be  rocked 
and  lulled  upon  a  languid  tide  of  half-conscious  dream- 
ing. 

Upon  such  a  tide,  however,  Nance  now  lay,  in  spite 
of  everything,  and  let  the  vague  murmurs  and  the 
familiar  sounds  flow  over  her,  in  soft  reiteration.  That 
she  should  be  able  to  lie  like  this,  listening  to  the  rattle 
of  the  milkman's  cans  and  the  crying  of  the  sea-gulls 
and  the  voices  of  newly-awakened  bargemen  higher  up 
the  river,  and  the  lowing  of  cattle  from  the  marshes 
and  the  chirping  of  sparrows  on  the  roof,  when  all  the 
while  her  lover  was  moaning,  in  horrible  unconscious- 
ness, within  those  unspeakable  walls,  was  itself,  as  she 
contemplated  it  in  cold  blood,  an  atrocious  trick  of  all- 
subverting  Nature ! 

She  looked  at  the  misty  sunlight,  soft  and  mellow, 
which  now  began  to  invade  the  room,  and  she  mar- 
velled at  herself  in  a  sort  of  bewildered  shame  that  she 
should  not,  at  this  crisis  in  her  life,  be  able  to  feel  more. 
Was  it  that  her  experiences  of  the  day  before  had  so 
harrowed  her  soul  that  she  had  no  power  of  reaction 
left?  Or  was  it  —  and  upon  this  thought  she  tried 
to  fix  her  mind  as  the  true  explanation  —  that  the  great 
underlying  restorative  forces  were  already  dimly  but 


BALTAZAR  STORK  413 

powerfully  exerting  themselves  on  behalf  of  Adrian, 
and  on  behalf  of  her  sister  and  herself? 

She  articulated  the  words  "  restorative  forces  "  in 
the  depths  of  her  mind,  giving  her  thought  this  palpable 
definition ;  but  as  she  did  so  she  was  only  too  conscious 
of  the  presence  of  a  mocking  spirit  there,  whose  fin- 
ger pointed  derisively  at  the  words  as  soon  as  she  had 
imaged  them.  Restorative  forces?  Were  there  such 
things  in  the  world  at  all?  Was  it  not  much  more 
likely  that  what  she  felt  at  this  moment  was  nothing 
more  than  that  sort  of  desperate  calm  which  comes, 
with  a  kind  of  numbing  inertia,  upon  human  beings, 
when  they  have  been  wrought  upon  to  the  limit  of  their 
endurance?  Was  it  not  indeed  rather  a  sign  of  her 
helplessness,  a  sign  that  she  had  come  now  to  the  end 
of  all  her  powers,  and  could  do  no  more  than  just 
stretch  out  her  arms  upon  the  tide  and  lie  back  upon  the 
dark  waters,  letting  them  bear  her  whither  they  pleased 
—  was  it  not  rather  a  token  of  this,  than  of  any  inkling 
of  possible  help  at  hand? 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  amid  the  various  sounds 
which  reached  her  ear,  there  came  the  clear  joyous 
whistling  of  some  boy  apprentice,  occupied  in  remov- 
ing the  shutters  from  one  of  the  shop-windows  in  the 
street.  The  boy  was  whistling,  casually  and  clumsily 
enough,  but  still  with  a  beautiful  intonation,  certain 
familiar  strophes  from  the  Marseillaise.  The  great 
revolutionary  tune  echoed  clear  and  strong  over  the 
drowsy  cobble-stones,  between  the  narrow  patient 
walls,  and  down  away  towards  the  quiet  harbour. 

It  was  incredible  the  effect  which  this  simple  acci- 
dent had  upon  the  mind  of  the  girl.  In  one  moment 
she  had  flung  to  the  winds  all  thought  of  submission  to 


414  RODMOOR 


destiny  —  all  idea  of  "  lying  back  "  upon  fate.  No 
longer  did  she  dream  vaguely  and  helplessly  of  "  restor- 
ative forces,"  somewhere,  somehow,  remotely  active  in 
her  favour.  The  old,  brave,  defiant,  youthful  spirit 
in  her,  the  spirit  of  her  father's  child,  leapt  up,  strong 
and  vigorous  in  her  heart  and  brain.  No  —  no ! 
Never  would  she  yield.  Never  would  she  submit. 
"  Allans,  enfants!  "     She  would  fight  to  the  end. 

And  then,  all  in  a  moment,  she  remembered  Baptiste. 
Of  course !  That  was  the  thing  to  be  done.  Fool  that 
she  was  not  to  have  thought  of  it  before!  She  must 
send  a  cabled  message  to  Adrian's  son.  It  was  to- 
wards Baptiste  that  his  spirit  was  continually  turning. 
It  must  be  Baptiste  who  should  restore  him  to  health ! 

It  was  not  much  after  six  o'clock  when  that  boy's 
whistling  reached  her,  but  between  then  and  the  first 
moment  of  the  opening  of  the  post  office,  her  mind  was 
in  a  whirl  of  hopeful  thoughts. 

As  she  stood  waiting  at  the  little  stuccoed  entrance 
for  the  door  to  open,  and  watched  with  an  almost  hu- 
morous interest  the  nervous  expectancy  of  the  most 
drooping,  pallid,  unhealthy  and  unfortunately  com- 
plexioned  youth  she  had  ever  set  eyes  upon,  she  felt 
full  of  strength  and  courage.  Adrian  had  been  ill  be- 
fore and  had  recovered.  He  would  recover  now !  She 
herself  would  bring  him  the  news  of  Baptiste's  coming. 
The  mere  news  of  it  would  help  him. 

There  was  a  little  garden  just  visible  through  some 
iron  railings  by  the  side  of  the  post  office  and  above 
these  railings  and  drooping  towards  them  so  that  it 
almost  rested  upon  their  spikes,  was  a  fading  sun- 
flower. The  flower  was  so  wilted  and  tattered  that 
Nance  had  no  scruple  about  stretching  her  hand  to- 


BALTAZAR  STORK  415 

wards  it  and  trying  to  pluck  it  from  its  stem.  She  did 
this  half-mechanically,  full  of  her  new  hope,  as  a  child 
on  its  way  to  catch  minnows  in  a  freshly  discovered 
brook  might  pluck  a  handful  of  clover. 

The  sickly-looking  youth  —  Nance  couldn't  help 
longing  to  cover  his  face  with  zinc-ointment ;  why  did 
one  always  meet  people  with  dreadful  complexions  in 
country  post  offices?  —  observing  her  efforts,  extended 
his  hand  also,  and  together  they  pulled  at  the  radiant 
derelict,  until  they  broke  it  off.  When  she  held  it  in 
her  hands,  Nance  felt  a  little  ashamed  and  sorry,  for 
the  tall  mutilated  stem  stood  up  so  stark  and  raw  with 
drops  of  white  frothy  sap  oozing  from  it.  She  could 
not  help  remembering  how  it  was  one  of  Adrian's  inno- 
cent superstitions  to  be  reluctant  to  pick  flowers. 
However,  it  was  done  now.  But  what  should  she  do 
with  this  great  globular  orb  of  brown  seeds  with  the 
scanty  yellow  petals,  like  weary  taper-flames,  surround- 
ing its  circumference? 

The  lanky  3'outh  looked  at  her  and  smiled  shyly. 
She  met  his  eyes,  and  observing  his  embarrassment, 
obviously  tinged  with  unconcealed  admiration,  she 
smiled  back  at  him,  a  sweet  friendly  smile  of  humorous 
camaraderie. 

Apparently  this  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that 
a  really  beautiful  girl  had  ever  smiled  at  him,  for  he 
blushed  a  deep  purple-red  all  over  his  face. 

"  I  think,  ma'am,"  he  stammered  nervously,  *'  I  know 
who  you  are.     I've  seen  you  with  Mr.  Stork." 

Nance's  face  clouded.  She  regarded  it  as  a  bad 
omen  to  hear  this  name  mentioned.  Her  old  mysterious 
terror  of  her  friend's  friend  rose  powerfully  upon  her. 
In  some  vague  obscure  way,  she  felt  conscious  of  his 


416  RODMOOR 


intimate  association  with  all  the  forces  in  the  world 
most  inimical  to  her  and  to  her  future. 

Observing  her  look  and  a  little  bewildered  by  it,  the 
youth  rambled  helplessly  on.  "  Mr.  Stork  has  been  a 
very  good  friend  to  me,"  he  murmured.  "  He  got  me 
my  job  at  Mr.  Walpole's  —  Walpole  the  saddler.  Miss. 
I  should  have  had  to  have  left  mother  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  him." 

With  a  sudden  impulse  of  girlish  mischief,  Nance 
placed  in  the  boy's  hand  the  great  faded  flower  she  was 
holding.     "  Put  it  into  your  button-hole,"  she  said. 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  forgetting  the 
boy,  the  sunflower,  and  the  ambiguous  Mr.  Stork,  she 
hurried  into  the  building,  full  of  her  daring  enterprise. 

Her  action  seemed  to  remove  from  the  youth's 
thoughts  whatever  motive  he  may  have  had  in  waiting 
for  the  opening  of  the  office.  Perhaps  this  goddess- 
like apparition  rendered  commonplace  and  absurd  some 
quaint  pictorial  communication,  smudgy  and  blotched, 
which  now  remained  unstamped  in  his  coat-pocket.  At 
any  rate  he  slunk  away,  with  long,  furtive,  slouching 
strides,  carrying  the  flower  she  had  given  him  as  rev- 
erently as  a  religious-minded  acolyte  might  carry  a 
sacred  vessel. 

Meanwhile,  Nance  sent  off  her  message,  laying  down 
on  the  counter  her  half-sovereign  with  a  docility  that 
thrilled  the  young  woman  who  officiated  there  with  awe 
and  importance. 

"  Baptiste  Sorio,  fifteen  West  Eleventh  Street,  New 
York  City,"  the  message  ran,  "  come  at  once ;  your  fa- 
ther in  serious  mental  trouble  " ;  and  she  signed  it  with 
her  own  name  and  address,  and  paid  five  shillings  more 
to  secure  an  immediate  reply. 


BALTAZAR  STORK  417 

Then,  leaving  the  post  office,  .she  returned  .slowly  and 
thoughtfully  to  her  lodging.  The  usual  stir  and  move- 
ment of  the  beginning  of  the  day's  work  filled  the  little 
street  when  she  approached  her  room.  Nance  could 
not  help  thinking  how  strange  and  curious  it  was  that 
the  stream  of  life  should  thus  go  rolling  forward  with 
its  eternal  repetition  of  little  familiar  usages,  in  spite 
of  the  desperation  of  this  or  the  other  cruel  personal 
drama. 

Adrian  might  be  moaning  for  his  son  in  that  Mund- 
ham  house.  Linda  might  be  fearing  and  dreading  the 
results  of  her  obsession.  Philippa  might  be  tossing 
forth  her  elfish  laugh  upon  the  wind  among  the  oak- 
trees.  She  herself  might  be  "  lying  back  upon  fate  " 
or  struggling  to  wrestle  with  fate.  What  mattered 
any  of  these  things  to  the  people  who  sold  and  bought 
and  laughed  and  quarrelled  and  laboured  and  made 
love,  as  the  powers  set  in  motion  a  new  day,  and  the 
brisk  puppets  of  a  human  town  began  their  diurnal 
dance? 

It  was  not  till  late  in  the  afternoon  that  Nance  re- 
ceived an  answer  to  her  message.  She  w^as  alone  when 
she  opened  it,  Linda  having  gone  as  usual,  under  her 
earnest  persuasion,  to  practise  in  the  church.  The 
message  was  brief  and  satisfactory :  "  Sailing  to- 
morrow Altrunia  Liverpool  six  days  boat  Baptiste." 

So  he  would  really  be  here  —  here  in  Rodmoor  — 
in  seven  or  eight  days.  This  was  news  for  Adrian,  if 
he  had  the  power  left  to  understand  anything!  She 
folded  the  paper  carefully  and  placed  it  in  her  purse. 

Mr.  Traherne  had  come  to  her  about  noon,  bringing 
news  that,  on  the  whole,  was  entirely  reassuring.  It 
seemed  that  Sorio  had  done  little  else  than  sleep  since 


418  RODMOOR 


his  first  entrance  into  the  place;  and  both  the  doctors 
there  regarded  this  as  the  best  possible  sign. 

Hamish  explained  to  her  that  there  were  three  de- 
grees of  insanity  —  mania,  melancholia,  and  dementia 
—  and,  from  what  he  could  learn  from  his  conversations 
with  the  doctors,  this  heavy  access  of  drowsiness  ruled 
out  of  Adrian's  case  the  worst  symptom  of  both  these 
latter  possibilities.  What  they  called  "  mania,"  he  ex- 
plained to  her,  was  something  quite  curable  and  with 
nearly  all  the  chances  in  favour  of  recovery.  It  was 
really  —  he  told  her  he  had  gathered  from  them  — 
"  only  a  question  of  time." 

The  priest  had  been  careful  to  inquire  as  to  the 
possibility  of  Nance  being  allowed  to  visit  her  be- 
trothed; but  neither  of  the  doctors  seemed  to  regard 
this,  at  any  rate  for  the  present,  as  at  all  desirable. 
He  cordially  congratulated  her,  however,  on  having 
sent  for  Sorio's  son.  "  Whatever  happens,"  he  said, 
"  it's  right  and  natural  that  he  should  be  here  with 
you." 

While  Nance  was  thus  engaged  in  "  wrestling  with 
fate,"  a  very  different  mental  drama  was  being  enacted 
behind  the  closed  windows  of  Baltazar's  cottage. 

Mr.  Stork  had  not  been  permitted  even  to  fall  asleep 
before  rumours  reached  him  that  some  startling  event 
had  occurred  at  Oakguard.  Long  before  midnight,  by 
the  simple  method  of  dropping  in  at  the  bar  of  the 
Admiral's  Head,  he  had  picked  up  sufficient  informa- 
tion to  make  him  decide  against  seeing  any  one  that 
night.  They  had  taken  Sorio  away,  and  Mr.  Renshaw 
had  escaped  from  a  prolonged  struggle  with  the  de- 
mented man  with  the  penalty  of  only  a  few  bruises. 
Thus,  with  various  imaginative  interpolations  which  he 


BALTAZAR  STORK  419 

discounted  as  soon  as  he  heard  them,  Baltazar  got  from 
the  gossips  of  the  tavern  a  fair  account  of  what  had 
occurred. 

There  was,  indeed,  so  much  excitement  in  Rodmoor 
over  the  event  that,  for  the  first  time  in  the  memory  of 
the  oldest  inhabitants,  the  Admiral's  Head  remained 
open  two  whole  hours  after  legal  closing  time.  This 
was  in  part  explained  by  the  fact  that  the  two  repre- 
sentatives of  the  law  in  the  little  town  had  been  sum- 
moned to  Oakguard  to  be  ready  for  any  emergency. 

It  was  now  about  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
Baltazar  had  found  himself  with  little  appetite  for 
either  breakfast  or  lunch,  and  at  this  moment,  as  he 
sat  staring  at  a  fireplace  full  of  nothing  but  burnt  out 
ashes,  his  eyes  had  such  dark  lines  below  them  that  one 
might  have  assumed  that  sleep  as  well  as  food  had  lost 
its  sarour  for  him  in  the  last  twelve  hours.  By  his 
side  on  a  little  table  stood  an  untasted  glass  of  brandy, 
and  at  his  feet  in  the  fender  lay  innumerable,  but  in 
many  cases  only  half-smoked,  cigarettes. 

The  impression  which  was  now  upon  him  was  that  of 
being  one  of  two  human  creatures  left  alive,  those  two 
alone,  after  some  world-destroying  plague.  He  had 
the  feeling  that  he  had  only  to  go  out  into  the  street 
to  come  upon  endless  dead  bodies  strewn  about,  in  fan- 
tastic and  horrible  attitudes  of  death,  and  in  various 
stages  of  dissolution.  It  was  his  Adriano  who  alone 
was  left  alive.  But  he  had  done  something  to  him  — 
so  that  he  could  only  hear  his  voice  without  being  able 
to  reach  him. 

"  I  must  end  this,"  he  said  aloud  ;  and  then  again, 
as  if  addressing  another  person,  "  We  must  put  an  end 
to  this,  mustn't  we,  Tassar?  " 


420  RODMOOR 


He  rose  to  his  feet  and  surveyed  himself  in  one  of 
his  numerous  beautifully  framed  mirrors.  He  passed 
his  slender  fingers  through  his  fair  curls  and  peered 
into  his  own  eyes,  opening  the  lids  wide  and  wrinkling 
his  forehead.  He  smiled  at  himself  then  —  a  long 
strange  wanton  smile  —  and  turned  away,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

Then  he  moved  straight  up  to  the  picture  of  the 
Venetian  Secretary  and  snapped  his  fingers  at  it. 
"  You  wait,  you  smirking  '  imp  of  fame ' ;  you  wait  a 
little!  We'll  show  you  that  you're  not  so  deep  or  so 
subtle  after  all.  You  wait,  Flambard,  my  boy,  you 
wait  a  while;  and  we'll  show  you  plots  and  counter- 
plots ! " 

Then  without  a  word  he  went  upstairs  to  his  bath- 
room. "  By  Jove !  "  he  muttered  to  himself,  "  I  begin 
to  think  Fingal's  right.  The  only  place  in  this  Chris- 
tian world  where  one  can  possess  one's  soul  in  peace  is 
a  tiled  bathroom  —  only  the  tiles  must  be  perfectly 
white,"  he  added,  after  a  pause. 

He  made  an  elaborate  and  careful  toilet,  brushing 
his  hair  with  exhaustive  assiduity,  and  perfuming  his 
hands  and  face.  He  dressed  himself  in  spotlessly 
clean  linen  and  put  on  a  suit  that  had  never  been  worn 
before.  Even  the  shoes  which  he  chose  were  elegant 
and  new.  He  took  several  minutes  deciding  what  tie 
to  wear  and  finally  selected  one  of  a  pale  mauve  colour. 
Then,  with  one  final  long  and  wistful  glance  at  him- 
self, he  kissed  the  tips  of  his  fingers  at  his  own  image, 
and  stepped  lightly  down  the  stairs. 

He  paused  for  a  moment  in  the  little  hallway  to  se- 
lect a  cane  from  the  stick  rack.     He  took  an  ebony  one 


BALTAZAR  STORK 421 

at  last,  witli  an  engraved  silver  knob  bearing  his  own 
initials.  There  was  something  ghastly  about  the  de- 
liberation with  which  he  did  all  this,  but  it  was  ghastli- 
ness  wasted  upon  polished  furniture  and  decrepit  flies 
—  unless  every  human  house  conceals  invisible  watch- 
ers. He  hesitated  a  little  between  a  Panama  hat  and 
one  of  some  light-coloured  cloth  material,  but  finally 
selected  the  former,  toying  carefully  with  its  flexible 
rim  before  placing  it  upon  his  head,  and  even  when  it 
was  there  giving  it  some  final  touches. 

The  absolute  loneliness  of  the  little  house,  broken 
only  by  an  occasional  voice  from  the  tavern  door,  be- 
came, during  his  last  moments  there,  a  sort  of  passive 
accomplice  to  some  nameless  ritual.  At  length  he 
opened  the  door  and  let  himself  out. 

He  walked  deliberately  and  thoughtfully  towards  the 
park  gates,  and,  passing  in,  made  his  way  up  the  leaf- 
strewn  avenue.  Arrived  at  the  house,  he  nodded  in  a 
friendly  manner  at  the  servant  who  opened  the  door, 
and  asked  to  be  taken  to  Mrs.  Renshaw's  room.  The 
man  obeyed  him  respectfully,  and  went  before  him  up 
the  staircase  and  down  the  long  echoing  passage. 

He  found  Mrs.  Renshaw  sewing  at  the  half-open  win- 
dow. She  put  down  her  work  when  he  entered  and 
greeted  him  with  one  of  those  illumined  smiles  of  hers, 
which  Fingal  Raughty  was  accustomed  to  say  made 
him  believe  in  the  supernatural. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming  to  see  me,"  she  said,  as  he 
seated  himself  at  her  side,  spreading  around  him  an 
atmosphere  of  delicate  odours.  "  Thank  you,  Bal- 
tazar,  so  much  for  coming." 

"Why  do  you  always  say  that.  Aunt  Helen.?"  he 


422  RODMOOR 


murmured,  almost  crossly.  It  was  one  of  the  little 
long-established  conventions  between  them  that  he 
should  address  his  father's  wife  in  this  way. 

There  came  once  more  that  indescribable  spiritual 
light  into  her  faded  eyes.  "  Well,"  she  said  gaily, 
"  isn't  it  kind  of  a  young  man,  who  has  so  many  inter- 
ests, to  give  up  his  time  to  an  old  woman  like  me?  " 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,  Aunt  Helen ! "  he  cried,  with 
a  rich  caressing  intonation,  laying  one  of  his  slender 
hands  tenderly  upon  hers.  "  It  makes  me  absolutely 
angry  with  you  when  you  talk  like  that ! " 

"  But  isn't  it  true,  Tassar?  "  she  answered.  "  Isn't 
this  world  meant  for  the  young  and  happy?  " 

"  As  if  I  cared  what  the  world  was  meant  for ! "  he 
exclaimed.  "  It's  meant  for  nothing  at  all,  I  fancy. 
And  the  sooner  it  reaches  what  it  was  meant  for  and 
collapses  altogether,  the  better  for  all  of  us  1 " 

A  look  of  distress  that  was  painful  to  witness  came 
into  Mrs.  Renshaw's  face.  Her  fingers  tightened  upon 
his  hand  and  she  leant  forward  towards  him.  "  Tassar, 
Tassar,  dear ! "  she  said  very  gravely,  "  when  you  talk 
like  that  you  make  me  feel  as  if  I  were  absolutely  alone 
in  the  world." 

"  What  do  you  mean.  Aunt  Helen  ?  "  murmured  the 
young  man  in  a  low  voice. 

"  You  make  me  feel  as  if  it  were  wrong  of  me  to  love 
you  so  much,"  she  went  on,  bending  her  head  and  look- 
ing down  at  his  feet. 

As  he  saw  her  now,  with  the  fading  afternoon  light 
falling  on  her  parted  hair,  still  wavy  and  beautiful 
even  in  its  grey  shadows,  and  on  her  broad  pale  fore- 
head, he  realized  once  more  what  he  alone  perhaps,  of 


BALTAZAR  STORK  423 

all  who  ever  had  known  her  realized,  the  unusual  and 
almost  terrifying  power  of  her  personality.  She  forced 
him  to  think  of  some  of  the  profound  portraits  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  revealing  with  an  insight  and  a  pas- 
sion, long  since  lost  to  art,  the  tragic  possibilities  of 
human  souls. 

He  laughed  gently.  "  Dear,  dear  Aunt  Helen !  "  he 
cried,  "  forget  my  foolishness.  I  was  only  jesting.  I 
don't  give  a  fig  for  any  of  my  opinions  on  these  things. 
To  the  deuce  with  them  all,  dear !  To  free  you  from 
one  single  moment  of  annoyance,  I'd  believe  every  word 
in  the  Church  Catechism  from  *  What  is  your  name?' 
down  to  *  without  doubt  are  lost  eternally  ' !  " 

She  looked  up  at  this,  and  made  a  most  heart-break- 
ing effort  not  to  smile.  Her  abnormally  sensitive 
mouth  —  the  mouth,  as  Baltazar  always  maintained,  of 
a  great  tragic  actress  —  quivered  at  the  corners. 

"  If  /  had  taught  you  your  catechism,"  she  said, 
"  you  would  remember  it  better  than  that !  " 

Baltazar's  eyes  softened  as  he  watched  her,  and  a 
strange  look,  full  of  a  pity  that  was  as  impersonal  as 
the  sea  itself,  rose  to  their  surface.  He  lifted  her  hand 
to  his  lips. 

"  Don't  do  that !  You  mustn't  do  that !  "  she  mur- 
mured, and  then  with  another  flicker  of  a  smile,  "  you 
must  keep  those  pretty  manners,  Tassar,  for  all  your 
admiring  young  women  !  " 

"  Confound  my  young  women  !  '*  cried  the  young  man. 
"  You're  far  more  beautiful.  Aunt  Helen,  than  all  of 
them  put  together  !  " 

"  You  make  me  think  of  that  passage  in  '  Hamlet,'  " 
she  rejoined,  leaning  back  in  her  chair  and  resuming 


424  RODMOOR 


her  work.  "  How  does  it  go  ?  '  Man  delights  me  not 
nor  woman  either  —  though  by  your  smihng  you  seem 
to  say  so ! '  " 

"  Aunt  Helen ! "  he  cried  earnestly,  "  I  have  some- 
thing important  to  say  to  you.  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand this.  It's  sweet  of  you  not  to  speak  of  Ad- 
riano's  illness.  Any  one  but  you  would  have  condoled 
with  me  most  horribly  already ! " 

She  raised  her  eyes  from  her  sewing.  "  We  must 
pray  for  him,"  she  said.  "  I  have  been  praying  for  him 
all  day  —  and  all  last  night,  too,"  she  added  with  a 
faint  smile.  "  I  let  Philippa  think  I  didn't  know  what 
had  happened.  But  I  knew."  She  shuddered  a  little. 
"  I  knew.     I  heard  him  in  the  *  workshop.'  " 

"  What  I  wanted  to  say.  Aunt  Helen,"  he  went  on, 
"  was  this.  I  want  you  to  remember  —  whatever  hap- 
pens to  either  of  us  —  that  I  love  you  more  than  any 
one  in  the  world.  Yes  —  yes,"  he  continued,  not  al- 
lowing her  to  interrupt,  *'  better  even  than  Adriano !  " 

A  look  resembling  the  effect  of  some  actual  physical 
pain  came  into  her  face.  "  You  mustn't  say  that,  my 
dear,"  she  murmured.  "  You  must  keep  your  love  for 
your  wife  when  you  marry.  I  don't  like  to  hear  you 
say  things  like  that  —  to  an  old  woman."  She  hesi- 
tated a  moment.  "  It  sounds  like  flattery,  Tassar," 
she  added. 

"  But  it's  true,  Aunt  Helen ! "  he  repeated  with  al- 
most passionate  emphasis.  "  You're  by  far  the  most 
beautiful  and  by  far  the  most  interesting  woman  I've 
ever  met." 

Mrs.  Renshaw  drew  her  hand  across  her  face.  Then 
she  laughed  gaily  like  a  young  girl.  "  What  would 
Philippa  say,"  she  said,  "  if  she  heard  you  say  that?  " 


BALTAZAR  STORK  425 


Baltazar's  face  clouded.  He  looked  at  her  long  and 
closely. 

"  Philippa  is  interesting  and  deep,"  he  said  with  a 
grave  emphasis,  "  but  she  doesn't  understand  me.  You 
understand  me,  though  you  think  it  right  to  hide  your 
knowledge  even  from  yourself." 

Mrs.  Renshaw's  face  changed  in  a  moment.  It  be- 
came haggard  and  obstinate.  "  VVe  mustn't  talk  any 
more  about  understanding  and  about  love,"  she  said. 
"  God's  will  is  that  we  should  all  of  us  only  completely 
love  and  understand  the  person  He  leads  us,  in  His 
wisdom,  to  marry." 

Baltazar  burst  into  a  fit  of  heathen  laughter.  "  I 
thought  you  were  going  to  end  quite  difFerentl}',  Aunt 
Helen,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  the  only  person  we  were 
to  love  was  going  to  be  God.  But  it  seems  that  it  is 
man  —  or  woman,"  he  added  bitterly. 

Mrs.  Renshaw  bent  low  over  her  work  and  the 
shadow  grew  still  deeper  upon  her  face.  Seeing  that 
he  had  really  hurt  her,  Baltazar  changed  his  tone. 

"  Dear  Aunt  Helen !  "  he  whispered  gently,  "  how 
many  happy  hours,  how  many,  how  many !  —  have  we 
spent  together  reading  in  this  room !  " 

She  looked  up  quickly  at  this,  with  the  old  bright 
look.  "  Yes,  it's  been  a  happy  thing  for  me,  Tassar, 
having  you  so  near  us.  Do  you  remember  how,  last 
winter,  we  got  through  the  whole  of  Sir  Walter  Scott? 
There's  no  one  nowadays  like  him  —  is  there.''  Though 
Philippa  tells  me  that  IMr.  Hardy  is  a  great  writer." 

"  Mr.  Hardy ! "  exclaimed  her  interlocutor  whim- 
sically. "  I  believe  you  would  have  come  to  him  at  last 
—  perhaps  you  xdlU  dear,  some  da}'.  Let's  hope  so ! 
But  I'm  afraid  I  shall  not  be  here  then." 


426  RODMOOR 


"  Don't  talk  like  that,  Tassar,"  she  said  without 
looking  up  from  her  work.  "  It  will  not  be  you  who 
will  leave  me." 

There  was  a  pause  between  them  then,  and  Baltazar's 
eyes  wandered  out  into  the  hushed  misty  garden. 

"  Mr.  Hardy  does  not  believe  in  God,"  he  remarked. 

"  Tassar  !  "  she  cried  reproachfully.  "  You  know 
what  you  promised  just  now.  You  mustn't  tease  me. 
No  one  deep  down  in  his  heart  disbelieves  in  God.  How 
can  we.'*  He  makes  His  power  felt  among  us  every 
day." 

There  was  another  long  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
melancholy  cawing  of  the  rooks,  beginning  to  gather 
in  their  autumnal  roosting-places. 

Presently  Mrs.  Renshaw  looked  up.  "  Do  you  re- 
member," she  said  very  solemnly,  "  how  you  promised 
me  one  day  never  again  to  let  Brand  or  Philippa  speak 
disrespectfully  of  our  English  hymn-book?  You  said 
you  thought  the  genius  of  some  of  our  best-known  poets 
was  more  expressed  in  their  hymns  than  in  their  poetry. 
I  have  often  thought  of  that." 

A  very  curious  expression  came  into  Baltazar's  face. 
He  suddenly  leaned  forward.  *'  Aunt  Helen,"  he  said, 
"  this  illness  of  Adrian's  makes  me  feel,  as  you  often 
say,  how  little  security  there  is  for  any  of  our  lives. 
I  wish  you'd  say  to  me  those  peculiarly  sad  lines  — 
you  know  the  one  I  mean  ?  —  the  one  I  used  to  make  you 
smile  over,  when  I  was  in  a  bad  mood,  by  saying  it  al- 
ways made  me  think  of  old  women  in  a  work-house! 
You  know  the  one,  don't  you?  " 

The  whole  complicated  subtlety  of  Mrs.  Renshaw's 
character  showed  itself  in  her  face  now.  She  smiled 
almost  playfully  but  at  the  same  moment  a  supernat- 


BALTAZAR  STORK  427 

ural  light  came  in  her  eyes.  "  I  know,"  she  said,  and 
without  a  moment's  hesitation  or  the  least  touch  of  em- 
barrassment, she  began  to  sing,  in  a  low  plaintive  melo- 
dious voice,  the  following  well-known  stanza.  As  she 
sang  she  beat  time  with  her  hand ;  and  there  came  over 
her  hearer  the  obscure  vision  of  some  old,  wild,  pri- 
mordial religion,  as  different  from  paganism  as  it  was 
different  from  Christianity,  of  which  his  mysterious 
friend  was  the  votary  and  priestess.  The  words  drifted 
away  through  the  open  window  into  the  mist  and  the 
falling  leaves. 

"  Rest  comes  at  length,  though  life  be  long  and  weary. 
The   day  must   dawn   and   darksome  night  be   past; 
Faith's  journey   ends  in   welcome  to   the  weary. 
And  heaven,  the  heart's  true  home,  will  come   at  last." 

When  it  was  finished  there  was  a  strange  silence  in 
the  room,  and  Baltazar  rose  to  his  feet.  His  face  was 
pale.  He  moved  to  her  side  and,  for  the  first  and  last 
time  in  their  curious  relations,  he  kissed  her  —  a  long 
kiss  upon  the  forehead. 

With  a  heightened  colour  in  her  cheeks  and  a  nerv- 
ous deprecatory  smile  on  her  lips,  she  went  with  him  to 
the  door.  "  Listen,  dear,"  she  said,  as  she  took  his 
hand,  "  I  want  you  to  think  of  that  poem  of  Cowper's 
written  when  he  was  most  despairing  —  the  one  that 
begins  '  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  wa}'.'  I  want  you 
to  remember  that  though  what  he  lays  upon  us  seems 
crushing,  there  is  always  something  behind  it  —  infinite 
mercy  behind  infinite  myster3\" 

Baltazar  looked  her  straight  in  the  face.  "  I  won- 
der," he  said,  "  whether  it  is  I  or  you  who  is  the  most 
unhappy  person  in  Rodmoor ! " 


428  RODMOOR 


She  let  his  hand  fall.  "  What  we  suffer,"  she  said, 
"  seems  to  me  like  the  weight  of  some  great  iron  en- 
gine with  jagged  raw  edges  —  like  a  battering-ram 
beating  us  against  a  dark  mountain.  It  swings  back- 
wards and  forwards,  and  it  drives  us  on  and  on  and  on." 

"  And  yet  3'ou  believe  in  God,"  he  whispered. 

She  smiled  faintly.  "  Am  I  not  alive  and  speaking 
to  you,  dear?  If  behind  it  all  there  wasn't  His  will, 
who  could  endure  to  live  another  moment?  " 

They  looked  into  one  another's  face  in  silence.  He 
made  an  attempt  to  say  something  else  to  her  but  his 
tongue  refused  to  utter  what  his  heart  suggested. 

"  Good-bye,  Aunt  Helen,"  he  said. 

"  Good  night,  Tassar,"  she  answered,  "  and  thank 
you  for  coming  to  see  me." 

He  left  the  house  without  meeting  any  one  else  and 
walked  with  a  deliberate  and  rapid  step  towards  the 
river.  The  twilight  had  already  fallen,  and  a  white 
mist  coming  up  over  the  sand-dunes  was  slowly  invading 
the  marshes.  The  tide  had  just  turned  and  the  full- 
brimmed  current  of  the  river's  out-flowing  poured  swift 
and  strong  between  the  high  mud-banks. 

The  Loon  was  at  that  moment  emphasizing  and  as- 
serting its  identity  with  an  exultant  joy.  It  seemed 
almost  to  purr,  with  a  kind  of  feline  satisfaction,  as 
its  dark  volume  of  brackish  water  rushed  forward  to- 
wards the  sea.  Whatever  object  it  touched  in  its  swift 
passage,  it  drew  from  it  some  sort  of  half-human  sound 
—  some  whisper  or  murmur  or  protest  of  querulous 
complaining. 

The  reeds  flapped ;  the  pollard-roots  creaked ;  the 
mud-promontories  moaned ;  and  all  the  while,  with  gur- 
glings and  suckings  and  lappings  and  deep-drawn,  in- 


BALTAZAR  STORK 429 

ward,  self-complacent  laughter,  the  sliding  body  of  the 
slippery  waters  swept  forward  under  its  veil  of  mist. 

On  that  night,  of  all  nights,  the  Loon  seemed  to 
have  reached  that  kind  of  emphasis  of  personality 
which  things  are  permitted  to  attain  —  animate  as  well 
as  inanimate  —  when  their  functional  activity  is  at  its 
highest  and  fullest. 

And  on  that  night,  carefully  divesting  himself  of 
his  elegant  clothes,  and  laying  his  hat  and  stick  on  the 
ground  beside  them,  Baltazar  Stork,  without  haste  or 
violence,  and  with  his  brain  supernaturally  clear, 
drowned  himself  in  the  Loon. 


XXVI 

NOVEMBER  MIST 

BALTAZAR'S  death,  under  circumstances  which 
could  leave  no  doubt  as  to  the  unhappy  man's 
intention  to  destroy  himself,  coming,  as  it  did, 
immediately  after  his  friend's  removal  to  the  Asylum, 
stirred  the  scandalous  gossip  of  Rodmoor  to  its  very 
dregs. 

The  suicide's  body  —  and  even  the  indurated  hearts 
of  the  weather-battered  bargemen  who  discovered  it, 
washed  down  by  the  tide  as  far  as  the  New  Bridge, 
were  touched  by  its  beauty  —  was  buried,  after  a  little 
private  extemporary  service,  just  at  the  debatable  mar- 
gin where  the  consecrated  churchyard  lost  itself  in  the 
priest's  flower-beds.  Himself  the  only  person  in  the 
place  exactly  aware  of  the  precise  limits  of  the  sacred 
enclosure  —  the  enclosure  which  had  never  been  en- 
closed —  Mr.  Traherne  was  able  to  follow  the  most 
rigid  stipulations  of  his  ecclesiastical  conscience  with- 
out either  hurting  the  feelings  of  the  living  or  offering 
any  insult  to  the  dead.  When  it  actually  came  to  the 
point  he  was,  as  it  turned  out,  able  to  remove  from  his 
own  over-scrupulous  heart  the  least  occasion  for  future 
remorse. 

The  Rodmoor  sexton  —  the  usual  digger  of  graves 
—  happened  to  be  at  that  particular  time  in  the  throes, 
or  rather  in  the  after-effects,  of  one  of  his  periodic  out- 
bursts of  inebriation.     So  it  happened  that  the  curate- 

430 


NOVEMBER  MIST  431 

in-cliarge  had  witli  his  own  hands  to  dig  tlie  grave  of 
the  one  among  all  his  parishioners  who  had  remained 
most  distant  to  him  and  had  permitted  him  the  least 
familiarity. 

Mr.  Traherne  remained  awake  in  his  study  half  the 
night,  turning  over  the  pages  of  ancient  scholastic  au- 
thorities and  comparing  one  doctrinal  opinion  with  an- 
other on  the  question  of  the  burial  of  suicides. 

In  the  end,  what  he  did,  with  a  whimsical  prayer  to 
Providence  to  forgive  him,  was  to  begin  digging  the 
hole  just  outside  the  consecrated  area,  but  by  means 
of  a  slight  northward  excavation,  when  he  got  a  few 
feet  down,  to  arrange  the  completed  orifice  in  such  a 
way  that,  while  Baltazar's  body  remained  in  common 
earth,  his  head  was  lodged  safe  and  secure,  under  soil 
blessed  by  Holy  Church. 

One  of  the  most  pious  and  authoritative  of  the  early 
divines,  Mr.  Traherne  found  out,  maintained,  as  no 
fantastic  or  heretical  speculation  but  as  a  reasonable 
and  reverent  conclusion,  the  idea  that  the  surviving 
portion  of  a  man  —  his  "  psyche  "  or  living  soul  —  had, 
as  its  mortal  tabernacle,  the  posterior  lobes  of  the  hu- 
man skull,  and  that  it  was  from  the  head  rather  than 
from  the  body  that  the  shadowy  companion  of  our 
earthly  days  —  that  "  animula  blandula "  of  the 
heathen  emperor  —  melted  by  degrees  into  the  sur- 
rounding air  and  passed  to  "  its  own  place." 

The  Renshaws  themselves  showed,  none  of  them,  the 
slightest  wish  to  interfere  with  his  arrangements,  nor 
did  Hamish  Traherne  ever  succeed  in  learning  whether 
the  hollow-eyed  lady  of  Oakguard  knew  or  did  not  know 
that  the  clay  mound  over  which  every  evening  without 
fail,    after   the   day   of   the   unceremonious   interment, 


432  RODMOOR 


she  knelt  in  silent  prayer,  was  outside  the  circle  of 
the  covenanted  mercies  of  the  Power  to  which  she 
prayed. 

The  "last  will  and  testament"  of  the  deceased  — 
written  with  the  most  exquisite  care  —  was  of  so 
strange  a  character,  taking  indeed  the  shape  of  some- 
thing like  a  defiant  and  shameless  "  confession,"  that 
Brand  and  Dr.  Raughty,  who  were  the  appointed  exec- 
utors, hurriedly  hid  it  out  of  sight.  Everything  Mr. 
Stork  possessed  was  left  to  Mrs.  Renshaw,  except  the 
picture  of  Eugenio  Flambard.  This,  by  a  fantastic 
codicil,  which  was  so  extraordinary  that  when  Brand 
and  Dr.  Raughty  read  it  they  could  do  nothing  but 
stare  at  one  another  in  silent  amazement,  was  be- 
queathed, at  the  end  of  an  astonishing  panegyric,  "  to 
our  unknown  Hippolytus,  Mr.  Baptiste  Sorio,  of  New 
York  City." 

Baltazar  had  been  buried  on  the  first  of  November, 
and  as  the  following  days  of  this  dark  month  dragged 
by,  under  unbroken  mists  and  rain,  Nance  lived  from 
hour  to  hour  in  a  state  of  trembling  expectancy. 
Would  Baptiste's  ship  bring  him  safely  to  England? 
Would  he,  when  he  came,  and  discovered  what  her 
relations  with  his  father  were,  be  kind  to  her  and  sym- 
pathetic, or  angry  and  hurt?  She  could  not  tell.  She 
could  make  no  guess.  She  did  not  even  know  whether 
Adrian  had  really  done  what  he  promised  and  written 
to  his  son  about  her  at  all. 

The  figure  of  the  boy  —  on  his  way  across  the  At- 
lantic—  took  a  fantastic  hold  upon  her  disturbed  im- 
agination. As  day  followed  day  and  the  time  of  his 
arrival  drew  near,  she  found  it  hard  to  concentrate  her 
mind  even  sufficiently  to  fulfil  her  easy  labours  with  the 


NOVEMBER  MIST  433 


little  dressmaker.     Miss  Pontifex  gently  remonstrated 
with  her. 

"  I  know  you're  in  trouble,  Miss  Herrick,  and  have 
a  great  deal  on  your  mind,  but  it  does  no  good  worry- 
ing, and  the  girls  get  restless  —  you  see  how  it  is !  — 
when  you  can't  give  them  your  full  attention." 

Thus  rebuked,  Nance  would  smile  submissively  and 
turn  her  eyes  away  from  the  misty  window. 

But  every  night  before  she  slept,  she  would  see 
through  her  closed  eyelids  that  longed-for  boy,  stand- 
ing —  that  was  how  she  always  conceived  him  —  at  the 
bows  of  the  ship,  standing  tall  and  fair  like  a  young 
god ;  borne  forwards  over  the  starlit  ocean  to  bring 
help  to  them  all. 

In  her  dreams,  night  after  night,  the  boy  came  to 
her,  and  she  found  him  then  of  an  unearthly  beauty 
and  endowed  with  a  mysterious  supernatural  power. 
In  her  dreams,  the  wild  impossible  hope,  that  somehow, 
somewhere,  he  would  be  the  one  to  save  Linda  from  the 
ruin  of  her  youthful  life,  took  to  itself  sweet  imme- 
diate fulfilment. 

Every  little  event  that  happened  to  her  during 
those  days  of  tension  assumed  the  shape  of  something 
pregnant  and  symbolic.  Her  mind  made  auguries  of 
the  movements  of  the  clouds,  and  found  significant 
omens,  propitious  or  menacing,  from  every  turn  of  the 
wind  and  every  coming  and  going  of  the  rain.  The 
smallest  and  simplest  encounter  took  upon  itself  at  that 
time  a  curious  and  mystic  value. 

In  after  days,  she  remembered  with  sad  and  woeful 
clearness  how  persons  and  things  impressed  her  then, 
as,  in  their  chance-brought  groupings  and  gestures, 
they  lent  themselves  to  her  strained  expectant  mood. 


434  HODMOOR 


For  instance,  she  never  could  forget  the  way  she 
waited,  on  the  night  of  the  third  of  November,  along 
with  Linda  and  Dr.  Raughty,  for  the  arrival  of  the 
last  train  from  Mundham,  bringing  Mr.  Traherne  back 
from  a  visit  to  the  Asylum  with  news  of  Adrian. 

The  news  the  priest  brought  was  unexpectedly  fa- 
vourable. Adrian,  it  seemed,  had  taken  a  rapid  turn 
for  the  better,  and  the  doctors  declared  that  any  day 
now  it  might  become  possible  for  Nance  to  see  him. 

As  they  stood  talking  on  the  almost  deserted  plat- 
form, Nance's  mind  visualized  with  passionate  inten- 
sity the  moment  when  she  herself  would  take  Baptiste 
to  see  his  father  and  perhaps  together  —  why  not.?  — 
bring  him  back  in  triumph  to  Rodmoor. 

Her  happy  reverie  on  this  particular  occasion  was 
interrupted  by  a  fantastic  incident,  which,  trifling 
enough  in  itself,  left  a  queer  and  significant  impression 
behind  it.  This  was  nothing  less  than  the  sudden  es- 
cape from  Mr.  Traherne's  pocket  of  his  beloved  Rico- 
letto. 

In  the  excitement  of  their  pleasure  over  the  news 
brought  by  the  priest,  the  rat  took  the  opportunity  of 
slipping  from  the  recesses  of  his  master's  coat ;  and 
jumping  down  on  the  platform,  he  leapt,  quick  as  a 
flash,  upon  the  railway  track  below.  Mr.  Traherne, 
with  a  cry  of  consternation,  scrambled  down  after  him, 
and  throwing  aside  his  ulster  which  impeded  his  prog- 
ress, began  desperately  pursuing  him.  The  engine  of 
the  train  by  which  the  clergyman  had  arrived  was  now 
resting  motionless,  separate  from  the  line  of  carriages, 
deserted  by  its  drivers.  Straight  beneath  the  wheels 
of  this  inert  monster  darted  the  escaped  rat.  The  agi- 
tated priest,  with  husky  perturbed  cries,  ran  backwards 


NOVEMBER  MIST  435 

and  forwards  along  the  side  of  the  engine,  every  now 
and  then  stooping  down  and  frantically  endeavouring 
to  peer  beneath  it. 

It  was  so  queer  a  sight  to  see  this  ungainly  figure, 
dressed  as  always  in  his  ecclesiastical  cassock,  rushing 
madly  round  the  dark  form  of  the  engine  and  at  in- 
tervals falling  on  his  knees  beside  it,  that  Linda  could 
not  restrain  an  almost  hysterical  fit  of  laughter. 

Dr.  Raughty  looked  whimsically  at  Nance. 

"  He  might  be  a  priest  of  Science,  worshipping  the 
god  of  machines,"  he  remarked,  assuming  as  he  spoke 
a  sitting  posture,  the  better  to  slide  do^^^^,  himself,  from 
the  platform  to  the  track. 

The  station-master  now  approached,  anxious  to  close 
his  office  for  the  night  and  go  home.  The  porter,  a 
peculiarly  unsympathetic  figure,  took  not  the  least  no- 
tice of  the  event,  but  coolly  proceeded  to  extinguish  the 
lights,  one  by  one. 

The  ostler  from  the  Admiral's  Head,  who  had  come 
to  meet  some  expected  visitor  who  never  arrived,  leaned 
forward  with  drowsy  interest  from  his  seat  on  his  cab 
and  surveyed  the  scene  with  grim  detachment,  prom- 
ising himself  that  on  the  following  night  at  his  familiar 
bar  table,  he  would  be  the  center  of  public  interest  as 
he  satisfied  legitimate  local  curiosity  with  regard  to 
this  unwonted  occurrence. 

Nance  could  not  help  smiling  as  she  saw  the  excel- 
lent Fingal,  his  long  overcoat  flapping  about  his  legs, 
bending  forward  between  the  buffers  of  the  engine  and 
peering  into  its  metallic  bell3^  She  noticed  that  he 
was  tapping  with  his  knuckles  on  the  polished  breast- 
plate of  the  monster  and  uttering  a  clucking  noise  with 
his  tongue,  as  if  calling  for  a  recalcitrant  chicken. 


436  RODMOOR 


It  was  not  long  before  Mr.  Traherne,  growing  des- 
perate as  the  oblivious  porter  approached  the  last  of 
the  station  lamps,  fell  flat  on  his  face  and  proceeded  to 
shove  himself  clean  under  the  engine.  The  vision  of 
his  long  retreating  form,  wrapped  in  his  cassock,  thus 
worming  himself  slowly  out  of  sight,  drew  from  Nance 
a  burst  of  laughter,  and  as  for  Linda,  she  clapped  her 
hands  together  like  a  child. 

He  soon  reappeared,  to  the  relief  of  all  of  them,  with 
his  recaptured  pet  in  his  hand,  and  scrambled  back  upon 
the  platform,  just  as  the  last  of  the  lamps  went  out, 
leaving  the  place  in  utter  darkness. 

Nance,  her  laughter  gone  then,  had  a  queer  sensa- 
tion as  they  moved  away,  that  the  ludicrous  scene  she 
had  just  witnessed  was  part  of  some  fantastic  unreal 
dream,  and  that  she  herself,  with  the  whole  tragedy  of 
her  life,  was  just  such  a  dream,  the  dream  perhaps  of 
some  dark  driverless  cosmic  engine  —  of  some  remote 
Great  Eastern  Railway  of  the  Universe ! 

The  morning  of  the  fourth  of  November  dawned  far 
more  auspiciously  than  any  day  which  Rodmoor  had 
known  for  many  weeks.  It  was  one  of  those  patient, 
hushed,  indescribable  days  —  calm  and  tender  and  full 
of  whispered  intimations  of  hidden  reassurance  — 
which  rarely  reach  us  in  any  country  but  England  or 
in  any  district  but  East  Anglia.  The  great  powers  of 
sea  and  air  and  sky  seemed  to  draw  close  to  one  an- 
other and  close  to  humanity ;  as  if  with  some  large  and 
gracious  gesture  of  benediction  they  would  fain  lay 
to  rest,  under  a  solemn  and  elemental  requiem,  the  body 
of  the  dead  season's  life. 

Nance  escaped  before  noon  from  Miss  Pontitfex's 
workroom.     She  and  Linda  had  been  invited  by  Dr. 


NOVEMBER  MIST 437 

Raughty  to  lunch  with  him  and  Ilainish  at  the  pastry- 
cook's in  the  High  Street.  It  was  to  be  a  sort  of  mod- 
est celebration,  this  little  feast,  to  do  honour  to  the 
good  news  which  Mr.  Traherne  had  brought  them  the 
night  before  and  which  was  corroborated  by  a  letter 
to  Nance  herself  from  the  head  doctor,  with  regard  to 
Adrian's  astonishing  improvement. 

Nance  felt  possessed  by  a  deep  and  tumultuous  ex- 
citement. Baptiste  surely  must  be  near  England  now  ! 
Any  day  —  almost  any  hour  —  she  might  hear  of  his 
arrival.  She  strolled  out  across  the  Loon  to  meet 
Linda,  who  had  gone  that  morning  to  practise  on  the 
organ  for  the  following  Sunday's  services. 

As  she  crossed  the  marsh-land  between  the  bridge 
and  the  church,  she  encountered  Mrs.  Renshaw  return- 
ing from  a  visit  to  Baltazar's  grave.  The  mistress  of 
Oakguard  stopped  for  a  little  while  to  speak  to  her, 
and  to  express,  in  her  own  way,  her  sympathy  over 
Adrian's  recovery.  She  did  this,  however,  in  a  man- 
ner so  characteristic  of  her  that  it  depressed  rather 
than  encouraged  the  girl.  Her  attitude  seemed  to 
imply  that  it  was  better,  wiser,  more  reverent,  not  to 
cherish  any  buoyant  hopes,  but  to  assume  that  the  worst 
that  could  come  to  us  from  the  hands  of  God  was  what 
ought  to  be  expected  and  awaited  in  humble  submis- 
siveness. 

She  seemed  in  some  strange  way  to  resent  any  lift- 
ing of  the  heavy  folds  of  the  pall  of  fate  and  with  a  kind 
of  obstinate  weariness,  to  lean  to  the  darker  and  more 
sombre  aspect  of  every  possibility. 

She  carried  in  her  hands  a  bunch  of  faded  flowers 
brought  from  the  grave  she  had  visited  and  which  she 
seemed  reluctant  to  throw  away,  and  Nance  never  for- 


438  RODMOOR 


got  the  appearance  of  her  black-gowned  drooping  fig- 
ure and  white  face,  as  she  stood  there,  by  the  edge  of 
the  misty,  sun-illumined  fens,  holding  those  dead  stalks 
and  withered  leaves. 

As  they  parted,  Nance  whispered  hesitatingly  some 
little  word  about  Baltazar.  She  half  expected  her  to 
answer  with  tears,  but  in  place  of  that,  her  eyes  seemed 
to  shine  with  a  weird  exultant  joy. 

"  When  you're  as  old  as  I  am,  dear,"  she  said,  "  and 
have  seen  life  as  I  have  seen  it,  you  will  not  be  sad  to 
lose  what  you  love  best.  The  better  we  love  them,  the 
happier  we  must  be  when  they  are  set  free  from  the 
evil  of  the  world." 

She  looked  down  on  the  ground,  and  when  she  raised 
her  head,  her  eyes  had  an  unearthly  light  in  them.  "  I 
am  closer  to  him  now,"  she  said,  "  closer  than  ever  be- 
fore.    And  it  will  not  be  long  before  I  go  to  join  him." 

She  moved  slowly  away,  dragging  her  limbs  heavily. 

Nance,  as  she  went  on,  kept  seeing  again  and  again 
before  her  that  weird  unearthly  look.  It  left  the  im- 
pression on  her  mind  that  Mrs.  Renshaw  had  actually 
secured  some  strange  and  unnatural  link  with  the  dead 
which  made  her  cold  and  detached  in  her  attitude  to- 
wards the  living. 

Perhaps  it  had  been  all  the  while  like  this,  the  girl 
thought.  Perhaps  it  was  just  this  habitual  inter- 
course with  the  Invisible  which  rendered  her  so  entirely 
a  votary  of  moonlight  and  of  shadows,  and  so  unsym- 
pathetic towards  the  sunshine  and  towards  all  genial 
normal  expressions  of  natural  humanity. 

Nance  had  the  sensation  —  when  at  last,  with  Linda 
at  her  side,  she  returned  dreamily  to  the  village  —  of 
having  encountered  some  creature  from  a  world  differ- 


NOVEMBER  MIST 439 

ent  from  ours,  a  world  of  grey  vapours  and  shadowy 
margins,  a  world  where  the  wraiths  of  the  unborn  meet 
the  ghosts  of  the  dead,  a  world  where  the  "  might-have- 
been  "  and  the  "  never-to-be-again  "  weep  together  by 
the  shores  of  Lethe. 

The  little  party  which  assembled  presently  round  a 
table  in  the  bow-window  of  the  Rodmoor  confectioner's 
proved  a  cheerful  and  happy  one.  The  day  was  Satur- 
day, so  that  the  street  was  full  of  a  quiet  stir  of  people 
preparing  to  leave  their  shops  and  begin  the  weekly 
holiday.  There  was  a  vague  feeling  of  delicate  sad- 
ness, dreamy  yet  not  unhappy,  in  the  air,  as  though  the 
year  itself  were  pausing  for  a  moment  in  its  onward 
march  towards  the  frosts  of  winter  and  gathering  for 
the  last  time  all  its  children,  all  its  fading  leaves  and 
piled-up  fruits  and  drooping  flowers,  into  a  hushed  ma- 
ternal embrace,  an  embrace  of  silent  and  everlasting 
farewell. 

The  sun  shone  gently  and  tenderly  from  a  sky  of  a 
faint,  sad,  far-off  blue  —  the  sort  of  blue  which,  in  the 
earlier  and  more  reserved  of  Florentine  painters,  may 
be  seen  in  the  robes  of  Our  Lady  caught  up  to  heaven 
out  of  a  grave  of  lilies. 

The  sea  was  calm  and  motionless,  its  hardly  stirring 
waves  clearer  and  more  translucent  in  their  green 
depths  than  when  blown  upon  by  impatient  winds  or 
touched  by  shameless  and  glaring  light. 

A  soft  opalescent  haze  lay  upon  the  houses,  turn- 
ing their  gables,  their  chimneys,  their  porches,  and 
their  roofs,  into  a  pearl-dim  mystery  of  vague  illusive 
forms ;  forms  that  might  have  arisen  out  of  the  "  peril- 
ous sea  "  itself,  on  some  "  beached  margent  "  woven  of 
the  stuff  of  dreams. 


440  RODMOOR 


The    queer    old-fashioned    ornaments    of    the    room 
where  the  friends  ate  their  meal  took  to  themselves,  as 
Nance  in  her  dreamy  emotion  drew  them  into  the  circle 
of  her  thoughts,  a  singular  and  symbolic  power.     They 
seemed  suggestive,  these  quaint  things,  of  all  that  world 
of  little  casually  accumulated  mementoes  and  memories 
with  which  our  troubled  and  turbulent  humanity  strews 
its  path  and  fills  the  places  of  its  passionate  sojourn- 
ing.    Mother-of-pearl     shells,     faded     antimacassars, 
china  dogs,  fruit  under  glass-cases,  old  faded  photo- 
graphs   of   long-since   dead   people,   illuminated    texts 
embroidered  in  bright  wool,  tarnished  christening  mugs 
of   children   that   were   now   old   women,   portraits   of 
celebrities  from  days  when  Victoria  herself  was  in  her 
cradle,  all  the  sweet  impossible  bric-a-brac  of  a  tea- 
parlour  in  a  village  shop  surrounded  them  as  they  sat 
there,  and  thrilled  at  least  two  of  their  hearts  —  for 
Linda's    mood    was    as    receptive    and    as    sensitive   as 
Nance's  —  with  an  indescribable  sense  of  the  pathos  of 
human  life. 

It  was  of  "life" — in  general  terms  —  that  Dr. 
Raughty  was  speaking,  as  the  two  young  girls  gave 
themselves  up  to  the  influence  of  the  hour  and  played 
lightly  with  their  food. 

"  It's  all  nonsense,"  the  doctor  cried,  "  this  con- 
founded perpetual  pessimism!  Why  can't  these  peo- 
ple read  Rabelais  and  Montaigne,  and  drink  noble  wine 
out  of  great  casks?  Why  can't  they  choose  from 
among  the  company  of  their  friends  gay  and  honest 
wenches  and  sport  with  them  under  pleasant  trees? 
Why  can't  they  get  married  to  comfortable  and  comely 
girls  and  regale  themselves  in  cool  and  well-appointed 
kitchens?" 


NOVEMBER  MIST 441 

He  helped  himself  as  he  spoke  to  another  sHce  of 
salmon  and  sprinkled  salt  upon  a  plateful  of  tomatoes 
and  lettuce. 

"Whose  pessimism  are  jou  talking  about,  Fingal?" 
inquired  Nance,  playing  up  to  his  humour. 

"  Don't  get  it  only  for  me,"  Mr.  Traherne  cried, 
addressing  the  demure  and  freckled  damsel  who  waited 
on  them.  "  I'm  asking  for  a  glass  of  ale,  Doctor. 
They  can  send  out  for  it.  But  I  don't  want  it  un- 
less — " 

The  Doctor's  eyes  shone  across  the  table  at  him  like 
soft  lamps  of  sound  antique  wisdom.  "  Burton's,"  he 
exclaimed  emphatically.  "  None  of  friend  Rcnshaw's 
stuff!  Burton's!  And  let  it  be  that  old  dark  ma- 
hogany-coloured liquor  we  drank  once  under  the  elm- 
trees  at  Ashbourne." 

The  waitress  regarded  him  with  a  coquettish  smile. 
She  laboured  under  the  perpetual  illusion  that  every 
word  the  Doctor  uttered  was  some  elaborate  and  recon- 
dite gallantry  directed  towards  herself. 

The  conversation  ran  on  in  lively  spasmodic  way- 
wardness. It  was  not  long  before  the  ale  appeared, 
of  the  very  body  and  colour  suggested  by  the  Doctor's 
memories.     Nance  refused  to  touch  it. 

"  Have  some  ginger-pop,  instead,  then,"  murmured 
Fingal,  pouring  the  brown  ale  into  a  china  jug  decor- 
ated with  painted  pansies.  "  Linda  would  like  some 
of  that,  I  know." 

The  priest  held  out  his  glass  in  the  direction  of  the 

jug. 

"  A  thousand  deep-sea  devils  —  pardon  me,  Nance, 
dear !  —  carry  off  these  pessimists,"  went  on  the  Doc- 
tor, filling  up  the  clergyman's  glass  and  his  own  with 


442  RODMOOR 


ritualistic  solemnity  while  the  little  maid,  the  victim 
of  an  irrepressible  laughing-fit,  retired  to  fetch  ginger- 
beer.  "  Let  us  remember  how  the  great  Voltaire  served 
God  and  defended  all  honest  people.  Here's  to  Vol- 
taire's memory  and  a  fig  for  these  neurotic  scribblers 
who  haven't  the  gall  to  put  out  their  tongues !  "  He 
raised  his  glass  to  his  lips,  his  eyes  shining  with  hu- 
morous enjoyment. 

"What  scribblers  are  you  talking  about?"  inquired 
Nance,  peeling  a  golden  apple  and  glancing  at  the  misty 
roofs  through  the  window  at  her  side. 

"  All  of  these  twopenny-halfpenny  moderns,"  cried 
the  Doctor,  "  who  haven't  the  gall  in  their  stomachs  to 
take  the  world  by  the  scrufF  of  its  neck  and  lash  out. 
A  fig  for  them !  Our  poor  dear  Adrian,  when  he  gets 
cured,  will  write  something  —  you  mark  my  words  — 
that'll  make  'em  stir  themselves  and  sit  up  !  " 

"But  Adrian  is  pessimistic  too,  isn't  he?"  said 
Nance,  looking  wistfully  at  the  speaker. 

"  Nonsense !  "  cried  the  Doctor.  "  Adrian  has  more 
Attic  salt  in  him  than  you  women  guess.  I  believe,  my- 
self, that  this  book  of  his  will  be  worthy  to  be  put  be- 
side the  '  Thoughts  '  of  Pascal.  Have  you  ever  seen 
Pascal's  face?  He  isn't  as  good-looking  as  Adrian  but 
he  has  the  same  intellectual  fury." 

"  What's  your  opinion,  Fingal,"  remarked  Mr.  Tra- 
herne,  peering  anxiously  into  the  pansied  jug,  "  about 
the  art  of  making  life  endurable?  " 

Dr.  Raughty  surveyed  him  with  a  placid  and  equable 
smile.  "  Courage  and  gaiety,"  he  said,  "  are  the  only 
recipe,  and  I  don't  mind  sprinkling  these,  in  spite  of 
our  modern  philosophers,  with  a  little  milk  of  human 
kindness." 


NOVEMBER  MIST  443 

The  priest  nodded  over  what  was  left  of  his  ale.  "  De 
fructu  operum  tuorum,  Domine,  satiabitur  terra:  ut 
educas  panem  de  terra,  et  vinum  laetificet  cor  Jiominis; 
ut  exhilaret  faciem  in  oleo,  et  panis  cor  hominis  con- 
firmet,"  he  muttered,  stretching  out  his  long  legs  under 
the  table  and  tilting  back  his  chair. 

"What  the  devil  does  all  that  mean?"  asked  the 
Doctor  a  little  peevishly.  "  Can't  you  praise  God  in 
simple  English?  Nance  and  I  couldn't  catch  a  word 
except  '  wine  '  and  '  bread  '  and  '  oil.'  " 

Mr.  Traherne  looked  unspeakably  ashamed.  "  I'm 
sorry,  Nance,"  he  murmured,  sitting  up  very  straight 
and  pulling  himself  together.  "  It  was  out  of  place. 
It  was  rude.  I'm  not  sure  that  it  wasn't  profane.  I'm 
sorry,  Fingal !  " 

*'  It's  a  beautiful  afternoon,"  said  Nance,  keeping  her 
eyes  on  the  little  street,  whose  very  pavements  reflected 
the  soft  opalescent  light  which  was  spreading  itself 
over  Rodmoor. 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Dr.  Raughty,  "  we  left  that  out  in  our 
summary  of  the  compensations  of  life.  You  left  that 
out,  too,  Hamish,  from  your  '  fructu  '  and  '  panem  ' 
and  '  vinum  '  and  the  rest.  But,  after  all,  that  is  what 
we  come  back  to  in  the  end.  The  sky,  the  earth,  the 
sea, —  the  great  cool  spaces  of  night  —  the  sun,  like  a 
huge  splendid  god ;  the  moon,  like  a  sweet  passionate 
nun ;  and  the  admirable  stars,  like  gems  in  some  great 
world-peacock's  tail  —  yes,  my  darlings,  we  come  back 
to  these  in  the  end  !  " 

He  rose  from  his  seat  and  with  shining  eyes  survej'ed 
his  guests. 

"  By  the  body  of  ]\Hstress  Bacbuc,"  he  cried,  in  a 
loud  voice,  "  we  do  wrong  to  sit  here  any  longer !     Let's 


444  RODMOOR 


go  down  to  the  sands  and  cool  our  heads.  Here,  Mag- 
gie! Madge!  Marjorie!  Where  the  deuce  has  that 
girl  gone?  There  she  is!  Get  me  the  bill,  will  you, 
and  bring  me  a  finger-bowl." 

Mr.  Traherne  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  doctor's 
arm.  "  I'm  afraid  we've  been  behaving  badly,  Fingal," 
he  whispered.  "  We've  been  drinking  ale  and  forget- 
ting our  good  manners.  Do  I  look  all  right?  I  mean, 
do  I  look  as  if  I'd  been  drinking  mahogany-coloured 
Burton?     Do  I  look  as  usual?" 

The  doctor  surveyed  him  with  grave  intentness. 
"  You  look,"  he  said  at  last,"  "  something  between 
Friar  John  and  Bishop  Berkeley."  He  gave  him  a  lit- 
tle push.  "  Go  and  talk  to  the  girls  while  I  buy  them 
chocolates." 

Having  paid  the  bill,  he  occupied  himself  in  selecting 
with  delicate  nicety  a  little  box  of  sweet-meats  for  each 
of  his  friends,  choosing  one  for  Nance  with  a  picture 
of  Leda  and  the  Swan  upon  it  and  one  for  Linda  with 
a  portrait  of  the  Empress  Josephine. 

As  he  leant  over  the  counter,  his  eyes  gleamed  with 
a  soft  benignant  ecstasy  and  he  rallied  the  shop-woman 
about  some  heart-shaped  confectionary  adorned  with 
blue  ribbons. 

Before  Mr.  Traherne  rejoined  them  Nance  had  time 
to  whisper  to  Linda,  "They're  both  a  little  excited, 
dear,  but  we  needn't  notice  it.  They'll  be  themselves 
in  a  moment.     Men  are  all  so  babyish." 

Linda  smiled  faintly  at  this  and  nodded  her  head. 
She  looked  a  little  sad  and  a  little  pale. 

Dr.  Raughty  soon  appeared.  "  Come  on,"  he  said, 
"  let's  go  down  to  the  sea  " ;  and  in  a  low  dreamy  voice 
he  murmured  the  following  ditty: 


XOVE^IBER  MIST  445 


"A  boat  —  a  boat  —  to  cross  the  ferry! 
And  let  us  all  be  wise  and  merry, 
And  laugh  and  quaff  and  drink  brown  sherry!" 

Linda  caught  at  Nance's  sleeve.  "  I  think  I'll  let 
you  go  without  me,"  she  whispered.  "  I  feel  rather 
tired." 

Nance  looked  anxiously  into  her  eyes.  "  I'd  come 
back  with  you,"  she  murmured,  "  but  it  would  hurt  their 
feelings.  You'd  better  lie  down  a  little.  I'll  be  back 
soon."  Then,  in  a  lower  whisper,  "  They  did  it  to 
cheer  us  up.  They're  dear,  absurd  people.  Take  care 
of  yourself,  darling." 

Linda  stood  for  a  while  after  she  had  bidden  them 
all  good-bye  and  watched  them  move  down  the  street. 
In  the  misty  sunshine  there  was  something  very  gentle 
and  appealing  about  Nance's  girlish  figure  as  she 
walked  between  the  two  men.  They  both  seemed  talk- 
ing to  her  at  the  same  time  and,  as  they  talked,  they 
watched  her  face  with  affectionate  and  tender  admira- 
tion. 

"  She  treats  them  like  children,"  said  Linda  to  her- 
self.    "  That's  why  they're  all  so  fond  of  her." 

She  walked  slowly  back  up  the  street ;  but  instead  of 
entering  her  house,  she  drifted  languidly  across  the 
green  and  made  her  way  towards  the  park  gates. 

She  felt  very  lonely,  just  then  —  lonely  and  full  of 
a  heart-aching  longing.  If  only  she  could  catch  one 
glimpse,  just  one,  of  the  man  who  was  so  dear  to  her  — 
of  the  man  who  Avas  the  father  of  her  child. 

She  thought  of  Adrian's  recovery  and  she  thought 
vaguely  and  wistfully  of  the  coming  of  Baptiste.  "  I 
hope  he  will  like  us,"  she  said  to  herself.  '*  I  hope  he 
will  like  us  both." 


446  RODMOOR 


Hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she  passed  in  through 
the  gates  and  began  moving  up  the  avenue.  All  the 
tragic  and  passionate  emotions  associated  with  this 
place  came  over  her  like  a  rushing  wave.  She  stopped 
and  hesitated.  Then  with  a  pitiful  effort  to  control 
her  feelings,  she  turned  and  began  retracing  her  steps. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  again,  her  heart  beating 
wildly.  Yes,  there  were  footsteps  approaching  her 
from  the  direction  of  Oakguard.  She  looked  around. 
Brand  Renshaw  himself  was  behind  her,  standing  at  a 
curve  of  the  avenue,  bareheaded,  under  an  enormous 
pine.  The  horizontal  sunlight  piercing  the  foliage  in 
front  of  him  shone  red  on  the  trunk  of  the  great  tree 
and  red  on  the  man's  blood-coloured  head. 

She  started  towards  him  with  a  little  gasping  cry, 
like  an  animal  that,  after  long  wandering,  catches  sight 
of  its  hiding-place. 

The  man  had  stopped  because  he  had  seen  her,  and 
now  when  he  saw  her  approaching  him  a  convulsive 
tremor  ran  through  his  powerful  frame.  For  one  sec- 
ond he  made  a  movement  as  if  to  meet  her;  but  then, 
raising  his  long  arms  with  a  gesture  as  if  at  once  em- 
bracing her  and  taking  leave  of  her,  he  plunged  into 
the  shadows  of  the  trees  and  was  lost  to  view. 

The  girl  stood  where  he  had  left  her  —  stood  as  if 
turned  to  stone  —  for  several  long  minutes,  while  over 
her  head  the  misty  sky  looked  down  through  the 
branches,  and  from  the  open  spaces  of  the  park  came 
the  harsh  cry  of  sea-gulls  flying  towards  the  coast. 

Then,  with  drooping  head  and  dazed  expressionless 
eyes,  she  walked  slowly  back,  the  way  she  had  come. 


XXVII 

THREXOS 

AFTER  her  encounter  with  Nance,  Mrs.  Ren- 
shaw,  returning  to  Oakguard,  informed  both 
Philippa  and  Brand  of  the  improvement  in 
the  condition  of  Adrian  Sorio. 

Philippa  received  the  news  quietly  enough,  conscious 
that  the  eyes  of  her  brother  were  upon  her ;  but  as  soon 
as  she  could  get  away,  which  was  not  till  the  after- 
noon was  well  advanced,  she  slipped  off  hastily  and  di- 
rected her  steps,  by  a  short  cut  through  the  park,  to 
the  Rodmoor  railway-station.  She  had  one  fixed  idea 
now  in  her  mind  —  the  idea  of  seeing  Adrian  and  talk- 
ing with  him  before  any  interview  was  allowed  to  the 
others. 

She  knew  that  her  name  and  her  prestige  as  the  sister 
of  the  largest  local  landowTier,  would  win  her  at  any 
rate  respectful  consideration  for  anything  she  asked  — 
and  everything  beyond  that  she  left  recklessly  in  the 
hands  of  fate. 

Baltazar's  death  had  affected  her  more  than  she 
would  herself  have  supposed  possible.  She  had  felt 
during  these  last  days  a  sort  of  malignant  envy  of  her 
mother,  whose  attitude  towards  her  friend's  loss  was 
so  strange  and  abnormal. 

Philippa,  with  her  scarlet  lips,  her  classic  flesh,  her 
Circean  feverishness,  suffered  from  her  close  associa- 
tion with  this  exultant  mourner,  as  some  heathen  boy 

447 


448  RODMOOR 

—  ^^~*^~ 

robbed  of  his  companion  might  have  suffered  from  con- 
tact with  a  Christian  visionary,  for  whom  death  was 
"far  better." 

At  this  moment,  however,  as  she  hurried  towards  the 
station,  it  was  not  of  Baltazar,  it  was  of  Adrian,  and 
Adrian  only,  that  she  thought. 

She  dismissed  the  fact  of  Baptiste's  expected  arrival 
with  bitter  contempt.  Let  the  boy  go  to  Nance  if  he 
pleased !  After  all,  it  was  to  herself  —  much  more  in- 
timately than  to  Nance  —  that  Adrian  had  confided 
his  passionate  idealization  of  his  son  and  his  savage 
craving  for  him. 

Yes,  it  was  to  her  he  had  confided  this,  and  it  was  to 
her  always,  and  never  to  Nance,  that  he  spoke  of  his 
book  and  of  his  secret  thoughts.  Her  mind  was  what 
Adrian  wanted  —  her  mind,  her  spirit,  her  imagination. 
These  were  things  that  Nance,  with  all  her  feminine 
ways,  was  never  able  to  give  him. 

Why  couldn't  she  tear  him  from  her  now  and  from 
all  these  people? 

Let  these  others  be  afraid  of  his  madness.  He  was 
not  mad  to  her.  If  he  were,  why  then,  she  too,  she 
who  loved  him  and  understood  him,  was  mad! 

From  the  long  sloping  spaces  of  the  park,  as  she 
hurried  on,  she  could  see  at  intervals,  through  the  misty 
sun-bathed  trees,  the  mouth  of  the  harbour,  with  its 
masts  and  shipping,  and,  beyond  that,  the  sea  itself. 

Ah !  the  sea  was  the  thing  that  had  mingled  their 
souls !     The  sea  was  the  accomplice  of  their  love ! 

Yes,  he  was  hers  —  hers  in  the  heights  and  the  depths 
—  and  none  of  them  should  tear  him  from  her ! 

All  the  whimpering  human  crowd  of  them,  with  their 
paltry  pieties  and  vulgar  prudence  —  how  she  would 


THREXOS  449 


love  to  strike  them  down  and  pass  over  them  —  over 
their  upturned  staring  faces  —  until  he  and  she  were 
together ! 

Through  the  dreamy  air,  with  its  floating  gossamer- 
seeds  and  faint  smell  of  dead  leaves,  came  to  her,  as  she 
ran  on,  over  the  uneven  ground,  past  rabbit-holes  and 
bracken  and  clumps  of  furze,  the  far  distant  murmur 
of  the  waves  on  the  sands.  Yes !  The  sea  was  what 
had  joined  them;  and,  as  long  as  that  sound  was  in  her 
ears,  no  power  on  earth  could  hold  them  apart ! 

She  reached  the  station  just  in  time.  It  was  five 
minutes  to  five  and  the  train  left  at  the  hour.  Philippa 
secured  a  first-class  ticket  for  herself  and  sank  down 
exhausted  in  the  empty  compartment. 

How  long  that  five  minutes  seemed ! 

She  was  full  of  a  fierce  jealous  dread  lest  any  of 
Nance's  friends  might  be  going  that  very  evening  to 
visit  the  patient. 

She  listened  to  the  conversation  of  two  lads  on  the 
platform  near  her  carriage  window.  They  were  speak- 
ing of  a  great  bonfire  which  was  to  be  prepared  that 
day,  on  the  southern  side  of  the  harbour,  to  be  set 
alight  the  following  evening,  in  honour  of  the  historic 
Fifth  of  November.  In  the  tension  of  her  nerves 
Philippa  found  herself  repeating  the  quaint  lines  of  the 
old  refrain,  associated  in  her  mind  with  many  childish 
memories. 

"  Remember,   remember 
Fiftli   of   November, 
Gunpowder    Treason    and    plot. 
We  know  no  reason 
Why  Gunpowder  Treason 
Should  ever   be   forgot !  " 


450  RODMOOR 


And  the  question  flashed  through  her  mind  as  to  what 
would  have  happened  by  the  time  that  great  spire  of 
smoke  and  flame  —  she  recalled  the  look  of  it  so  well ! 
—  rose  up  and  drifted  across  the  water.  Would  it  be 
the  welcoming  signal  to  bring  Baptiste  to  Rodmoor  — 
to  Rodmoor  and  to  Adrian? 

Two  minutes  more !  She  watched  the  hand  upon  the 
station-clock.  It  was  slowly  crossing  the  diminishing 
strip  of  white  which  separated  it  from  the  figure  of  the 
hour.  Oh,  these  cruel  signs,  with  their  murderous 
moving  fingers !  Why  must  Love  and  Hope  and  De- 
spair depend  upon  little  patches  of  vanishing  white,  be- 
tween black  marks? 

Off"  at  last!  And  she  made  a  little  gasping  noise 
in  her  throat  as  if  she  had  swallowed  that  strip  of 
white. 

An  hour  later,  as  the  November  darkness  was  clos- 
ing in,  she  passed  through  the  iron  gates  into  the 
Asylum  garden.  As  she  moved  in,  a  small  group  of 
inmates  of  the  Asylum,  accompanied  by  a  ,  nurse, 
emerged  from  a  secluded  path.  It  was  shadowy  and 
obscure  under  those  heavy  trees,  but  led  by  the  childish 
curiosity  of  the  demented,  these  unfortunate  persons, 
instead  of  obeying  their  attendant's  command,  drifted 
waveringly  towards  her. 

A  movement  took  place  among  them  like  that  de- 
scribed by  Dante  in  his  Inferno  as  occurring  when 
some  single  soul,  out  of  a  procession  of  lost  spirits, 
recognizes  in  the  dubious  twilight,  a  living  figure  from 
the  upper  air. 

For  the  moment  Philippa  wondered  if  Adrian  was 
among  them,  but  if  he  was  he  was  given  no  opportunity 
to  approach  her,  for  the  alert  guardian  of  these  peo- 


TIIREXOS  451 


pie,  like  some  Virgilian  watcher  of  gliostly  siiadows 
upon  the  infernal  stream,  shepherded  them  away,  across 
the  darkened  lawn,  towards  the  corner  of  the  building. 

The  Renshaw  name  acted  like  magic  when  she  reached 
the  house.  Yes,  iNIr.  Sorio  was  much  better ;  prac- 
tically quite  himself  again,  and  there  was  no  reason  at 
all  why  Miss  Renshaw  should  not  have  an  interview 
with  him.  A  letter  had,  indeed,  only  that  very  after- 
noon been  posted  to  Miss  Herrick,  asking  her  to  come 
up  to  the  place  the  following  day. 

Philippa  inquired  whether  her  interview  with  the  pa- 
tient might  take  the  form  of  a  little  walk  with  him,  be- 
fore the  hour  of  their  evening  meal.  This  request  pro- 
duced a  momentary  hesitation  on  the  part  of  the  offi- 
cial to  whom  she  made  it,  but  ultimately  —  for,  after 
all.  Miss  Renshaw  was  the  sister  of  the  magistrate  who 
had  procured  the  unhappy  man's  admission  into  the 
place  —  that  too  was  granted  her,  on  condition  that 
she  returned  in  half-an-hour's  time,  and  did  not  take 
her  companion  into  the  streets  of  the  town.  Having 
granted  her  request  the  Asylum  doctor  left  her  in  the 
waiting-room,  while  he  went  to  fetch  her  friend. 

Philippa  sank  down  upon  a  plush-covered  chair  and 
looked  around  her.  What  a  horrible  room  it  was ! 
The  shabby  furniture,  covered  with  gloomy  drapery, 
had  an  air  of  sombre  complicity  with  all  the  tragedies 
that  darkened  human  life.  It  was  like  a  room  only 
entered  when  some  one  was  dead  or  dying.  It  was  like 
the  ante-room  to  a  cemetery.  Everything  in  it 
drooped,  and  seemed  anxious  to  efface  itself,  as  if 
ashamed  to  witness  the  indecent  exposures  of  outraged 
human  thoughts. 

They  brought  Sorio  at  last,  and  the  man's  sunken 


452  RODMOOR 


eyes  gleamed  with  a  light  of  indescribable  pleasure 
when  his  hand  met  Philippa's  and  clutched  it  with 
trembling  eagerness. 

They  went  out  of  the  room  together  and  moved 
down  the  long  passage  that  led  to  the  entrance  of  the 
place.  As  she  walked  by  his  side,  Philippa  experienced 
the  queer  sensation  of  having  him  as  her  partner  in 
some  diabolic  danse-macahre,  performed  to  the  min- 
gled tune  of  all  the  wild  "  songs  of  madness  "  created 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world. 

She  couldn't  help  noticing  that  the  groups  of  peo- 
ple they  passed  on  their  way  had  an  air  quite  different 
from  persons  in  a  hospital  or  even  in  a  prison.  They 
made  her  think  —  these  miserable  ones  —  of  some  hor- 
rible school  for  grown-up  people ;  such  a  school  as  those 
who  have  been  ill-used  in  childhood  see  sometimes  in 
their  dreams. 

They  seemed  to  loiter  and  gather  and  peer  and  mut- 
ter, as  if,  "  with  bated  breath  and  whispering  humble- 
ness," they  were  listening  to  something  that  was  going 
on  behind  closed  doors.  Philippa  got  the  impression 
of  a  horrible  atmosphere  of  guilt  hanging  over  the 
place,  as  if  some  dark  and  awful  retribution  were  being 
undergone  there,  for  crimes  committed  against  the  nat- 
ural instincts  of  humanity. 

A  lean,  emaciated  old  woman  came  shuffling  past 
them,  with  elongated  neck  and  outstretched  arms. 
"  I'm  a  camel !  I'm  a  camel !  I'm  a  camel !  "  Philippa 
heard  her  mutter. 

Suddenly  Adrian  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm.  "  They 
let  me  have  my  owl  in  here,  Phil,"  he  said.  "  We 
mustn't  go  far  to-night  or  it'll  get  hungry.  It  has  its 
supper  off  my  plate.     I  never  told  you  how  I  found  it. 


THREXOS  453 


did  I?  It  was  pecking  at  her  eyes,  you  know.  Yes, 
at  her  eyes!  But  that's  nothing,  is  it?  She  had  been 
dead  for  weeks,  and  owls  are  scavengers,  and  corpses 
are  carrion !  " 


They  crossed  the  garden  with  quick  steps. 

"  How  good  the  air  is  to-night !  "  cried  Philippa's 
companion,  throwing  back  his  head  and  snuffing  the 
leaf-scented  darkness. 

They  were  let  out  through  the  iron  gates  and  turn- 
ing instinctively  south-wards,  they  wandered  slowly 
down  to  the  river  —  the  girl's  hand  resting  on  the  man's 
arm. 

They  passed,  on  their  way,  the  blackened  wall  of  a 
disused  factory.  A  blurred  and  feeble  street-lamp 
threw  a  flickering  light  upon  this  wall.  Pasted  upon 
its  surface  was  a  staring  and  coloured  advertisement 
of  some  insurance  company,  representing  a  phoenix 
surrounded  by  flames. 

Philippa  thought  at  once  of  the  bonfire  which  was 
being  prepared  for  the  ensuing  evening.  Would 
Adrian's  boy  really  arrive  in  so  short  a  time.''  And 
would  Adrian  himself,  like  that  grotesque  bird,  so  im- 
perturbable in  the  midst  of  its  funeral  pyre,  rise  to  new 
life  after  all  this  misery?  Let  it  be  her  —  oh,  great 
heavenly  powers  !  —  let  it  be  her  and  not  Nance,  nor 
Baptiste,  nor  any  other,  who  should  save  him  and  heal 
him ! 

Still  looking  at  the  picture  on  the  wall,  she  repeated 
to  her  companion  a  favourite  verse  of  Mrs.  Renshaw's 
which  she  had  learnt  as  a  child. 

"  Death  is  now  the  phoenix'  nest 
And  the  turtle's  loyal   breast 
To  eternity  doth  rest. 


454  RODMOOR 


"  Leaving  no   posterity, 
'Twas  not  their  infirmity, 
It  was  married  chastity." 

The  rich  dirge-like  music  of  these  Shakespearian 
rhymes  —  placed  so  quaintly  under  their  strange  title 
of  "  Threnos,"  at  the  end  of  the  familiar  volume  —  had 
a  soothing  influence  upon  them  both  at  that  moment. 

It  seemed  to  Philippa  as  if,  by  her  utterance  of  them, 
they  both  came  to  share  some  sad  sweet  obsequies  over 
the  body  of  something  that  was  neither  human  nor  in- 
human, something  remote,  strange,  ineffable,  that  lay 
between  them,  and  was  of  them  and  yet  not  of  them, 
like  the  spirit-corpse  of  an  unborn  child. 

They  reached  the  bank  of  the  river.  The  waters  of 
the  Loon  were  high  and,  through  the  darkness,  a  mur- 
mur as  if  composed  of  a  hundred  vague  whispering 
voices  blending  together,  rose  to  their  ears  from  its 
dark  surface. 

They  moved  down  close  to  the  river's  edge.  A  small 
barge,  with  its  long  guiding-pole  lying  across  it,  lay 
moored  to  the  bank.  Without  a  moment's  delay  —  as 
if  the  thing  had  been  prepared  in  advance  to  receive 
him  —  Adrian  jumped  into  the  barge  and  seized  the 
pole. 

"  Come  !  "  he  said  quietly. 

She  was  too  reckless  and  indifferent  to  everything 
now,  to  care  greatly  what  they  did ;  so  without  a  word 
of  protest,  or  any  attempt  to  turn  his  purpose,  she 
leapt  in  after  him  and  settling  herself  in  the  stern, 
seized  the  heavy  wooden  rudder. 

The  tide  was  running  sea-ward,  fast  and  strong,  and 
the  barge,  pushed  vigorously  by  Adrian's  pole  away 
from  the  bank,  swept  forward  into  the  darkness. 


TIIRP:X0S  455 


Adrian,  .standing  firmly  on  his  feet,  continued  to  hold 
the  pole,  his  figure  looming  out  of  obscurity,  tall  and 
commanding. 

The  tide  soon  swept  them  beyond  the  last  houses  of 
the  town  and  out  into  the  open  fens. 

The  night  was  very  still  and  quite  free  from  wind 
but  a  tliin  veil  of  mist  concealed  the  stars. 

Adrian,  letting  the  pole  sink  down  on  the  deck  of 
the  barge,  moved  forward  to  where  she  sat  holding  the 
rudder,  and  stretched  himself  out  at  her  feet. 

"Will  they  follow  us.'*"  he  whispered  in  a  dreamy 
indifferent  voice. 

"  No,  no  !  "  the  girl  answered.  "  They'll  never  think 
of  this.  They'll  wait  for  us  and  when  we  don't  come 
back,  they'll  search  the  town  and  the  roads.  Let's  go 
on  as  we  are,  dearest.  What  does  it  matter.?  What 
does  anything  matter.''  " 

She  lay  back  and  ran  her  fingers  gently  and  dreamily 
over  his  forehead. 

Swiftly  and  silently  the  barge  swept  on,  and  willows, 
poplars,  weirs,  dam-gates,  tall  reeds  and  ruined  rush- 
thatched  hovels,  passed  them  by,  like  figures  woven  out 
of  unreal  shadows. 

The  water  gurgled  against  the  sides  of  the  barge 
and  whispered  mournfully  against  the  banks,  and,  as 
they  advanced,  the  mystery  of  the  night  and  the  brood- 
ing silence  of  the  fens  received  them  in  a  mystic  cm- 
brace. 

A  strange  deep  happiness  gradually  surged  up  in 
Philippa's  heart.  She  was  with  the  mnn  she  loved ;  she 
was  with  the  darkness  she  loved,  and  the  river  she 
loved.  The  Loon  carried  them  forward,  the  pitiful 
friendlv  Loon,  the  Loon  which  had  flowed  by  the  dwell- 


456  RODMOOR 


ing  of  her  race  for  so  many  ages ;  the  Loon  which  had 
given  Baltazar  the  peace  he  craved. 

Just  the  faintest  tremor  of  doubt  troubled  her,  the 
thought  that  it  was  towards  Nance  —  towards  her 
rival  —  that  the  tide  was  bearing  them ;  but  let  come 
what  miglit  come,  that  hour  at  least  was  hers !  Not 
all  the  world  could  take  that  hour  from  her  —  and  the 
future?     What  did  the  future  matter? 

As  to  the  brain-sick  man  himself,  who  lay  at  the  girl's 
feet,  it  were  long  and  hard  to  tell  all  the  strange  dim 
visions  that  flowed  through  his  head.  He  took  Phil- 
ippa's  hand  in  his  own  and  kissed  it  tenderly  but,  had 
the  girl  known,  his  thoughts  were  not  of  her.  They 
were  not  even  of  his  son ;  of  the  son  for  whom  he  had 
so  passionately  longed.  They  were  not  of  any  human 
being.  They  circled  constantly  —  these  thoughts  — 
round  a  strange  vague  image,  an  image  moulded  of 
white  mists  and  white  vapours  and  the  reflection  of 
white  stars  in  dark  waters. 

This  image,  of  a  shape  dim  and  vast  and  elemental, 
seemed  to  flow  upwards  from  land  and  sea,  and  stretch 
forth  towards  infinite  space.  It  was  an  image  of  some- 
thing beyond  human  expression,  of  something  beyond 
earth-loves  and  earth-hatreds,  beyond  life  and  also  be- 
yond death.  It  was  the  image  of  Nothingness ;  and  yet 
in  this  Nothingness  there  was  a  relief,  an  escape,  a 
refuge,  a  beyond-hope,  which  made  all  the  ways  of  hu- 
manity seem  indiff'crent,  all  its  gods  childish,  all  its 
dreams  vain,  and  yet  offered  a  large  cool  draught  of 
"  deep  and  liquid  rest "  the  taste  of  which  set  the  soul 
completely  free. 

Many  hours  passed  thus  over  their  heads,  as  the  tide 
carried  them  down  towards  Rodmoor,  round  the  great 


TTIREXOS  457 


sweeping  curves  made  by  the  Loon,  through  the  stubble- 
fields  and  the  marshes. 

It  was,  at  last,  the  striking  of  the  side  of  the  barge 
against  one  of  the  arches  of  the  Now  Bridge,  which 
roused  the  prostrate  man  from  the  trance  into  which 
he  had  fallen. 

As  soon  as  they  had  emerged  on  the  further  side  of 
the  arch,  he  leapt  to  his  feet.  Bending  forward  to- 
wards Philippa,  he  pointed  with  an  outstretched  arm 
towards  the  shadowy  houses  of  Rodmoor  which,  with 
here  and  there  a  faint  light  in  some  high  window,  could 
now  be  discerned  through  the  darkness. 

"  I  smell  the  sea !  "  he  cried.  "  I  smell  the  sea ! 
Drift  on,  Phil,  my  little  one,  drift  on  to  the  harbour ! 
I  must  leave  you  now.  We  shall  meet  by  the  sea,  my 
girl  —  by  the  sea  in  the  old  way  —  but  I  can't  wait 
now.     I  must  be  alone,  alone,  alone !  " 

Waving  his  hand  wildly  with  a  gesture  of  farewell, 
he  clutched  at  a  clump  of  reeds  and  sprang  out  upon 
the  bank.  Philippa,  letting  the  barge  float  on  as  it 
pleased,  followed  him  with  all  the  speed  she  could. 

He  had  secured  a  considerable  start  of  her,  however, 
and  it  was  all  she  could  do  to  keep  him  in  sight  in  the 
darkness. 

He  ran  first  towards  the  church,  but  when  he  reached 
the  path  which  deviated  towards  the  sand-dunes,  he 
turned  sharply  eastward.  He  ran  wildly,  desperately, 
with  no  thought  in  his  whole  being  but  the  feeling  that 
he  must  reach  the  sea  and  be  alone. 

He  felt  at  that  moment  as  though  the  whole  of  hu- 
manity—  loathsome,  cancerous,  suffocating  humanity 
—  were  pursuing  him  with  outstretched  hands. 

Once,  as  he  was  mid-way  between  the  church  path 


458  RODMOOR 


and  the  dunes,  he  turned  his  head,"  and  catching  sight 
of  Philippa's  figure  following  him,  he  plunged  forward 
in  a  fury  of  panic. 

As  he  crossed  the  dunes,  at  this  savage  pace,  some- 
thing seemed  to  break  in  his  brain  or  in  his  heart.  He 
spat  out  a  mouthful  of  sweet-tasting  blood,  and,  falling 
on  his  knees,  fumbled  in  the  loose  sand,  as  if  searching 
for  some  lost  object. 

Staggering  once  more  to  his  feet,  and  seeing  that  his 
pursuer  was  near,  he  stumbled  wildly  down  the  slope 
of  the  dunes  and  tottered  across  the  sand  to  the  water's 
edge. 

He  was  there  at  last  —  safe  from  everything  —  safe 
from  love  and  hatred  and  madness  and  pity  —  safe 
from  unspeakable  imaginations  ■■ —  safe  from  him- 
self! 

The  long  dark  line  of  waves  broke  calmly  and  indif- 
ferently at  his  feet,  and  away  —  away  into  the  eternal 
night  —  stretched  the  vast  expanse  of  the  sea,  dim, 
vague,  full  of  inexpressible,  infinite  reassurance. 

He  raised  both  his  arms  into  the  air.  For  one  brief 
miraculous  moment  his  brain  became  clear  and  an  ec- 
static feeling  of  triumph  and  unconquerable  joy  swept 
through  him. 

"  Baptiste !  "  he  shouted  in  a  shrill  vibrating  voice, 
"Baptiste!" 

His  cry  went  reverberating  over  the  water.  He 
turned  and  tried  to  struggle  back.  A  rush  of  blood 
once  more  filled  his  mouth.     His  head  grew  dizzy. 

"  Tell  Nance  that  I  —  that  I  — "  His  words  died 
into  a  choking  murmur  and  he  fell  heavily  on  his  face 
on  the  sand. 

He  was  dead  when  she  reached  him.     She  lifted  him 


TITREXOS  450 


gently  till  he  lay  on  his  back  and  then  pressing  her 
hand  to  his  heart,  she  knew  that  it  was  the  end. 

She  sank  beside  him,  bowing  her  forehead  till  it 
touched  the  ground,  and  clinging  to  his  neck.  After  a 
minute  or  two  she  rose,  and  taking  his  hand  in  her  own 
she  sat  staring  into  the  darkness,  with  wide-open  tear- 
less eyes. 

She  was  "  alone  with  her  dead  "  and  nothing  mat- 
tered any  more  now. 

She  remained  motionless  for  several  long  moments, 
while  over  her  head  something  that  resembled  eternity 
seemed  to  pass  b3',  on  beautiful,  terrible,  beating  wings. 

Then  she  rose  up  upon  her  feet. 

"  She  shall  never  have  him  !  "  she  murmured.  "  She 
shall  never  have  him  !  " 

She  tore  from  her  waist  a  strongly-woven  embroid- 
ered cord,  the  long  tassels  of  which  hung  down  at  her 
side.  She  dragged  the  dead  man  to  the  very  edge  of 
the  water.  With  an  incredible  effort,  she  raised  him 
up  till  he  leant,  limp  and  heavy,  against  her  own  body. 

Then,  supporting  him  with  difficulty,  and  with  dif- 
ficulty keeping  herself  from  sinking  under  his  weight, 
she  twisted  the  cord  round  them  both,  and  tied  it  in  a 
secure  knot.  Holding  him  thus  before  her,  with  his 
chin  resting  on  her  shoulder,  she  staggered  forward 
into  the  water. 

It  was  not  easy  to  advance,  and  her  heart  seemed 
on  the  point  of  breaking  with  the  strain.  But  the 
savage  thought  that  she  was  taking  him  away  from 
Nance  —  from  Nance  and  from  every  one  —  to  pos- 
sess him  herself  forever,  gave  her  a  supernatural 
strength. 

It  seemed  as  though  the  demon   of  madness,  which 


460  RODMOOR 


had  passed  from  Adrian  at  the  last,  and  left  him  free, 
had  entered  into  her. 

If  that  was  indeed  the  case,  it  is  more  than  likely  that 
when  she  fell  at  last  —  fell  backwards  under  his  weight 
beneath  the  waves  —  it  was  rather  with  a  mad  ecstasy 
of  abandonment  that  she  drank  the  choking  water,  than 
with  any  hopeless  struggle  to  escape  the  end  she  had 
willed. 

Bound  tightly  together,  both  by  the  girl's  clinging 
arms  and  by  the  cord  she  had  fastened  round  them, 
the  North  Sea  as  it  drew  back  in  the  outflowing  of  its 
tide,  carried  their  bodies  forth  into  the  darkness. 

Far  from  land  it  carried  them  —  under  the  misty 
unseeing  sky  —  far  from  misery  and  madness,  and  when 
the  dawn  came  trembling  at  last  over  the  restless  ex- 
panse of  water,  it  found  only  the  white  sea-horses  and 
the  white  sea-birds.  Those  two  had  sunk  together;  out 
of  reach  of  humanity,  out  of  reach  of  Rodmoor. 


THE    END 


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